


Mutual - We've Discussed It

by ariadne_odair



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Zayn, Harry and Niall are besties, Harry's real name isn't Marcel, Liam is an unofficial therapist, Louis and Harry grind, Love/Hate, M/M, Nerd Harry, Niall wears glasses, Popular Louis, larry stylinson - Freeform, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like he's in his own world, the noises of people screaming and laughing and bitching drifting into nothing. It's just him, and this boy, and warm, warm skin under his palms.</p><p>Harry looks up, and he sees blue, blue eyes, and caramel coloured hair, and pink lips. There's a beat of silence, and all Harry can do is stare, and his heart is beating wildly, his face warm and -</p><p>"What the fuck is wrong with you?" snarls Louis Tomlinson, and kicks him in the shin.</p><p> </p><p>Sixth Form au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Skip To The Good Bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first Larry Stylinson fic. I love them as a couple, and I've wanted to do this for ages.
> 
> The boys are in sixth form in here, and I'm currently in sixth form so all the details are supposed to be accurate ;)
> 
> For all Americans reading this (are there any? Is anyone actually reading this?) you don't need to know about sixth form. They're at school, basically :) 
> 
> Okay, I hope you enjoy :)

"Zayn. Seriously, Zayn, look. That girl is practically  _begging_  to be bitched about."

Zayn, who is being seriously rude by not hanging off and then writing down Louis' every word, doesn't even look up. He is missing Louis' amazing commentary, even though hearing Louis' innermost thoughts is definitely a huge privilege.

Louis carries on, undeterred. He's good with tenacity. "Zayn, c'mon, just one teeny peek. She might as well be wearing a t shirt that reads: _Free Victimisation, piping hot, get it here_."

Zayn gives him a look. Zayn is always giving Louis looks, Louis' practically catalogued them all by their unique eyebrow lifts.

"Louis," Zayn says, brown eyes narrowed, "I don't care if you have an obsession with making offensive snap judgements about people. You are a complete and utter asshole most of the time. It's cool. It's why I'm friends with you -"

"Feelings mutual, babe," Louis puts in, because he's too cheeky for his own good, and because it's worth it to see Zayn pout.

" -but," Zayn continues, "Not when I'm trying to do my art work."

Which is a huge lie, because Zayn is ridiculously good at art, while Louis' artistic career ended at the stick man phase.

Zayn is also ridiculously attractive, with these long, long eyelashes and big, amber eyes. He's all tanned skin, and unshaved and  _exotic._ It's no wonder he's one of the most popular guys in school.

If Zayn wasn't his best friend, Louis would probably hate him. No, he definitely would hate him, because Zayn even managed to look like walking sex when his little sister put a strawberries and cream face mask on him.

(Louis would not look like walking sex if he was wearing a strawberries and cream face mask. More like a quick hand job round the back of the chippie- and even that's pushing it.)

Not that Louis' a complete troll. In fact, he's probably even more popular than Zayn. 

He may be compact (not short, okay? Or worse  _petite),_ but he's got toned from the football team - which he's Captain of, by the way. The sixth form team is really good, and people actually going to watch their matches.

Louis is going to  _rule_  sixth form. He knows exactly what committees to be on, charity, student parliment, and he's got this nack for leading people without actually lifting a finger himself.

Not to mention, he's definitely benefiting from not having to wear a blazer and tie anymore. Parallel trousers make you look ten times as attractive, said nobody ever.

He's managed to gel his hair into a decent looking quiff, he's got (from what he's been told) sparkling blue eyes, and, he's not going to lie, his arse is pretty fantastic.

He's smart, and snarky, and his comebacks have been known to make people cry. He knows exactly what to say, who to say it to, and when silence says  _everything._

Louis doesn't mean to brag, but if this was _Mean Girls_ , he'd be Regina George.

Ha. Zayn can be Gretchin.

They're sitting at their usual table, right in the middle. Louis calls it the Break Point, because it's where he breaks people's reputations as the walk into the canteen.

Hey, it's not Louis' fault. They shouldn't be so desperate for that cheese and ham panini, if they don't want to face the wrath of the Tommo.

Seriously. Is that ham sandwich worth having your social status shredded into front of your eyes?

Thought not.

It's not even lunch, it's a little before school, because Louis needs caffiene and a daily of dose of snap judgement to wake him up.

Louis flicks one of Zayn's art pencils, and it goes skittering across the table. Zayn grabs it, and flips Louis off. He glares at him, gathering up the rest of them.

"Oh, come on, Zaynie," Louis pouts, drumming his fingers on the table. "You don't even need to study. You'll just charm Miss Ferguson with your long eyelashes and even longer legs."

Zayn smirks. "Honey, that could be the name of my autobiography."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Quoting Iron Man doesn't make you cool."

Zayn snorts."But knowing that was an Iron Man quote does?"

"Yeah, because you've made me watch them over a billion times. We get it, he has a metal suit. He gets off with Gwyneth Paltrow. There's weird unresolved sexual tension with Captain America. The end."

"That's a gross oversimplification, you know."

Louis lets out a bark of laughter and kicks Zayn under the table. "Right, whatever you say. You like men in spandex. Can we go now?"

Zayn stands up and pushes back from the table, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Hey, Scarlett Johansson was pretty hot too."

Louis sighs, and slings one arm around Zayn's shoulders. "You know you're lucky I'm your friend, because trust me, no one else would like such a massive DORK."

"Good," Zayn says patiently, "You're lucky I'm _your_ friend, because no one else would like such a massive WANKER."

Because Zayn is his bestest, bestest bezzie and Louis is not, in fact, a wanker, he doesn't react in an imature or irrational way to that highly insulting comment.

(He does push Zayn into a locker though.)

 

 

Harry doesn't get tripped over on the way to his locker.

This is surprising, because since his growth spurt he's had double the chance of tumbling. It's like his stupid, gangly limbs are against him - along with some of the more popular boys in his year.

Harry can't afford contacts, so he has these huge, black glasses. He doesn't feel comfortable in skinny jeans, so he wears khaki trousers and a sweater vest, and sometimes a tie. And it's hardly his fault he has to slick his hair back or it looks like Hagrid's.

Harry's not ashamed of how he looks, and he honestly likes sixth form - well, his subjects anyway. He just gets the feeling people aren't going to change because they can wear their own clothes now.

 This isn't Glee, he doesn't get slushied, but bullies are bullies wherever you are. He doesn't like being called names, or shoved into walls, but it's easier to keep your head down.

(Words hurt worse than bruises, but he'd rather get called a nerd than get punched in the face. Harry's pretty sure acting as if he's deaf and mute increases his survival chances by about 70%.)

Harry clutches his sociology book to his chest nervously, as if it's a shield. He ducks his head as much as he can, until he sees a familiar shock of blond hair.

"Hey, Harry," Niall mumbles, through a mouthful of chocolate, "Want half a Mars bar?"

He offers Harry half the chocolate, licking caramel off his own fingers. It's a symbol of how strong their friendship is that Niall even lets Harry near the wrapper.

Harry pops the chocolate in his mouth, savouring the flavour as he grabs his heavy history books.

"Mate, you won't believe what my cousin did at the weekend," Niall says, bouncing on his toes, and then he's off, babbling about some crazy story.

The thing is, Niall is technically a bit of a weirdo, but everyone loves him. He has bright blue braces, and black glasses like Harry's, only cooler. Niall only wears his glasses when he wants to though, because his eyesights not that bad. Niall has a stupid habit of wearing snapbacks and white almost see through t-shirts.

Harry's pretty sure Niall doesn't mean to be a stereotype, but he talks with an Irish lilt, and swears a lot and drinks a lot and EATS ALL THE TIME.

He is also Harry's favourite person in the world, ever since Niall adopted Harry when Harry let Niall have his packet of cheese and onion crisps.

That was when they were five. Harry has tried to break the habit of thinking of Niall as a loyal golden retriever, but it's not going very well.

"- and that's how we ended up on a bouncy castle," Niall finishes with a flourish, "Have you done your English homework?"

Wordlessly, Harry hands over his English homework. "Niall, you realise you actually are going to have read Macbeth at some point?"

Niall grins. "Well, yeah, but it's pretty straight forward, ain't it? Three ugly bints turn up, and everything goes downhill from there."

Harry giggles, shutting his locker as they turn to go to form. 

"Niall," Harry says, grinning at him, "Whilst that is the gist" - Niall practically wags his tail - "There are some other important aspects."

Niall cocks his head to one side. "Like what?"

"Like Macbeth murdering people..."

Niall shrugs. "Well, Macbeth was a bit of a tosser anyway."

Harry tries to hide his grin, and nods gravely. "That he was, Nialler, that he was."

Niall glares at him goodnaturedly. "Well, at least my version's better than how you tell it."

He puts on a very deep, very slow, exaggerated posh accent. "There's, like, er, Macbeth, and, he, like, he's Macbeth, right? And, he, like, um, he's Macbeth."

Harry lets out a laugh at the accurate impersonation. He does take a little while to tell stories. He pushes his glasses further up on his nose, and shrugs. "Pretty good."

Niall beams at him, blue eyes wide and happy, coloured braces flashing. "Like your vest, mate. You look like Clark Kent."

"Are you sure?" Harry asks nervously, tugging at it. Sometimes, around Niall, he forgets how he looks, especially when Niall's all blond hair and blue eyes and smiles.

He frowns, pushing his glasses up again. They're always slipping down.

"Yeah," Niall says, punching him gently on the arm. "You look spiffing, Harold."

Harry eyes him weirdly, but Niall is just laughing and holding his hand out for a high five.

Niall starts telling another story, this time about Nando's. 80% of Niall's stories are about Nando's. He says he wants to be reincarnated as a 8 piece wing platter.

It's crushed down the corridor, people everywhere, so Harry lets Niall go ahead. He's humming to himself, tapping his sociology book to the beat.

He's squeezing through a gap, still humming, when his foot catches on someone's bag. There's a moment of normality, then Harry goes crashing forward.

He's tripping, and he's smacked into something hard. He instinctively grabs the nearest thing, and tumbles into a locker.

When Harry blinks, he's pressed another boy against a locker.

Only, it's not quite like that.

His hands are cupping the guy's hips, and Harry feels something twist in his stomach at how big his hands look, securely holding the guy in place. Whoever it is smells really good, aftershave and soap and maybe vanilla, and he suddenly feels hot, biting down on his lip.

It's like he's in his own world, the noises of people screaming and laughing and bitching drifting into nothing. It's just him, and this boy, and warm, warm skin under his palms.

Harry looks up, and he sees blue, blue eyes, and caramel coloured hair, and pink lips. There's a moment of silence, and all Harry can do is  _stare,_ and his heart is beating wildly, his face warm and -

"What the  _fuck_ is wrong with you?" snarls _Louis Tomlinson_ and kicks him in the shin.

Harry recoils, letting out a yelp of pain. He squirms at the stinging hurt, then stops. Freezes, completely still.

 _Louis Tomlinson._ He just pushed  _Louis Tomlinson_ into a locker.

Louis looks - Harry's not even sure there's words to describe Louis Tomlinson. He's in a striped t-shirt, that's ridiculously clingy, showing his muscles.

Then Harry looks at his trousers, and the t-shirt really doesn't compare in terms of ridiculousness. They're sinfully tight, clinging to the boy, and Harry has to look away, feels himself flush even more.

His hair is in a quiff, and it should look stupid but it doesn't, because this is  _Louis Tomlinson._

A very pissed Louis Tomlinson.

Harry's brain is finally catching up with him, and he's starting to form an apology, you know, like a normal person, but Louis beats him to it.

"Were you fucking thrown at the wall as a baby?" Louis snaps, face contorted in anger.

Harry blinks, eyes widening in shock. Louis' harsh tone and his words hurt, hit Harry hard, and pushes his glasses up instinctively, scrabbles for an answer. "I -"

"Because most people, who's brains are functioning normally," Louis continues, voice a hiss, "Don't throw other people into lockers!"

"I didn't throw you!" Harry blurts, absolutely shocked and miserable and having no idea what to do. " I - I -"

"Oh, for fucks sake, just shut up," Louis says, lip curled in disdain, "Just stay away from me, you freak, and if you ever touch me again, I'll break your fingers, okay?"

Harry's speechless as Louis shoves past him, muttering under his breath.

He reaches down for his dropped sociology book, ignoring the way his hands trembles. He feels off kilter and dizzy, as if he fell down the stairs -

\- not into Louis Tomlinson.

Louis. Tomlinson. The most popular boy in school.

Harry groans, resting his head back against the locker. Then he realises it's the locker he fell into, and jumps away incase Louis' body heat is still there or something.

Not that it'd matter if it was.

Harry takes a deep breath, and smooths down his hair, not really needed with all that gel. He resolutely pushes away images of pretty boys with caramel coloured hair, and warm skin under his hands -

\- and Harry  _hates_ sixth form.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, kudos and comments are appreciated :)
> 
> The reason it's 13 chapters? Because all 13 chapters are written :) I'll be updating everyday from now on, so SUBSCRIBE :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!! :)


	2. What The Hell Is A Styles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter :) 
> 
> Incase you didn't catch it, I'll be updating once a day from now on, because I've written all the chapters :)
> 
> I don't own One Direction and I'm sure Nick Grimshaw is lovely in real life :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Louis' late to form, but his teacher isn't even there yet, so it doesn't matter. Part of Louis wishes she was, so he could go off on a massive rant about  _being shoved into a freaking locker._

"What happened to you?" Zayn asks, raising one eyebrow as Louis flings himself into the chair next to him.

"Some complete freak shoved me into a locker!" Louis exclaims, kicking the chair leg, "I wasn't even doing anything and the guy jumped me!"

Louis' not sure why he's so mad. He's pretty sure the kid didn't mean to, and although his back had hurt a bit, it wasn't like he was in agony.

Maybe, it's more the fact the guy's hands were  _huge,_ fingers splayed over Louis' hips. Or the fact the freak didn't move, just stood there, staring. He smelt good too, a little intoxicating like -

" - like, Louis?"

Louis snaps out of it. "Huh? What?"

"The freak," Zayn says, having been friends with Louis long enough not to be fased by his weirdness, "What did he look like?"

"Um, black glasses," Louis replies, frowning slightly, "Er, slicked back hair, the most disgusting jumper I've ever seen.."

Zayn snaps his fingers. "Marcel."

Louis blinks. "What?"

"Marcel, geeky, quiet, wears glasses, I think he's in English Lit and History with you -"

"His name is MARCEL?"

"Yes."

"MARCEL?"

"I think so. Everyone calls him that -"

"What the hell kind of name is that? Who names their child _Marcel_?"

Zayn shrugs. "I don't know, I - oh, hey, Liam."

Louis glances up to see Liam Payne standing in the door. He's got some forms in his hand, but there's no teacher for him to give then to. 

Liam is the kind of boy who finds not giving forms to the right teachers extremely distressing. Liam is a very sweet boy, so it's strange that he's friends with Louis and Zayn, who are very, very sour.

"Liam, do you think I'm sour?" Louis asks, kicking his feet up on the table, just to see Liam's "I am very disappointed you are choosing to be unruly" face.

"No, people can't be sour," Liam says firmly, and Louis pouts. Liam no longer has his brown curls, having changed into a big boy hair cut for sixth form, but his big brown puppy eyes are still the same.

"Oh, Liam!" Louis says suddenly, remembering cold metal at his back, "Look, you're on the student support, cry on my shoulder, group thing -"

Liam pinches his nose. "It's called _Here For You_ , Louis -"

"Yes, yes, lovely, you all sing Kumbya -"

"And make daisy chains."

"Yes, thank you, Zayn, and make daisy chains. Anyway, I need, er, support? Because I have been assulted. By a student."

Liam runs a hand over his close cropped hair, brown eyes resigned. "Louis, what did you do?"

Louis glares at him. "I didn't do anything! Some guy shoved me into a locker for no reason! Expel him. Right now."

"But make him do a naked mile first," Zayn adds.

"Louis," Liam says firmly, as if this is the year Louis will actually listen, "I don't know what you did to whoever, but don't flip out and terrorise whoever, like, brushed you, okay?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Liam, we're not going to hurt him. We're not even going to maim him. But you are. By expelling him. From school."

"And life," Louis adds.

Liam picks up his forms. "I'm going to give the rest of these out. Please, don't go too far, Louis, okay?"

Liam is one of those resposible types, who always does their homework, and doesn't run in the corridor, and doesn't kiss until the third date. Liam is also unfairly attractive, but unlike Zayn, who  _knows_ how hot he is, Liam just blinks a lot and runs away if a girl so much as looks at him. It's pretty endearing, which is why Louis puts up with it.

"Too far is never enough," Louis beams, and Liam sighs, and heads out the door, muttering about football playing idiots as he goes.

 

 

When Louis strolls into History, he's met with the words: " _Group Project."_

This'll be good if he's put with some hot girl who will do it for him. Though, Louis seriously doubts that he will be, after being caught with his hand down Alicia Young's top in the storage cupboard, in Year 11.

To be fair, the excuse "I was looking for the Russian Revolution", wasn't his best.

"Right, I'm going to put you in pairs according to alphabetical order."

Louis groans. What is this, primary school? He doesn't even know who's after him in the register. Frankly, Louis sits at the back of the class, and he couldn't tell you who sits past the third row.

" - Tomlinson and Styles."

"What the hell," Louis sighs, "Is a Styles?"

Which is when Mar - freaking - cel turns around.

For God's sake.

The teacher is glaring at him now, and gesturing to Marcel. Marcel is blushing, and pushing his glasses up his nose, which Louis remembers him doing before. It must be a nervous habit.

Good. He should be nervous. Louis may have a little problem with grudges.

There is no way that Louis is moving to the front - where Marcel sits, right in front of the teacher, the loser - so he just stares at Marcel, until Marcel gets up and moves.

Louis eyes him as he walks towards the back. He's actually quite tall, only he ducks behind his books a lot. He's awkward and clumsy, like a baby horse learning to walk, so he must have just gone through a growth spurt. Marcel settles into the seat beside him, tucking his legs in and still clutching his books to his chest. He looks at Louis nervously.

Louis keeps his face impassive. "I don't bite, you know. It's you who's into physical harm."

Marcel's face falls. "I didn't mean to," he stammers, "I was just walking, and Niall was ahead, and there was a bag, and -"

Louis rolls his eyes, effectively cutting him off. "Yeah, look, whatever, Marcel -"

"My name's not Marcel," the other boy says, very, very quietly.

Louis blinks at him. "What do you mean your name's not Marcel? Everyone calls you that! Zayn told me it was Marcel, I nearly died laughing."

It's a bit harsh, and not - Marcel shrinks a little, clutching his book so hard his knuckles are white.

"My name's Harry," he says sadly, in his surprisingly deep voice, "Marcel's my middle name. Nick Grimshaw was giving forms out once, and he saw it and told everyone. So now everyone calls me Marcel."

Great. Because now Louis can't be a dick to this kid. Not when he looks like that, all curled in on himself, and sad, and shielding himself with his text book.

Mar - Harry, Harry pushes his glasses up again, and Louis gives up.

"Well, Nick Grimshaw is a twat," Louis says, and Harry's eyes light up.

"Yeah?" he says hopefully, ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering.

Not that Louis' noticing his eyelashes.

Louis shrugs because it's true, he's always disliked Grimmy. "Yeah, he tries to get on the football team every year, and he thinks he's hilarious. He's not. And what's he doing with his hair? Applying for a skyscraper permit?"

Harry lets out a little laugh, which makes something twist in Louis' gut. He does remember Harry now, vaguely, sitting at the front in Chemistry last year. He think he remembers getting a book from the library, and seeing Harry sitting in there, eating his lunch.

"I guess it's pretty tall," Harry says thoughtfully.

"Clearly over compensating," Louis says, and Harry lets out an honest to God _giggle._

"So," Louis says, stretching his arms out until his back cracks satisfyingly. He's looking forward to football later. "What about we start learning about -"

He pauses, squinting at the board. "Er, the reasons for and effects of hyperinflation in Germany, post World War One."

"Right," Harry says, and it's entertaining to see how quickly he snaps back into dork mode, pushing up his glasses and straightening that repulsive jumper. "I know you're a good public speaker-"

"How?"

Harry blinks. "How what?"

Louis narrows his eyes. "How do you know I'm a good public speaker?"

Harry frowns. "You're on loads of committees, right?"

"Yeah, but how do you know that?"

Harry gives him a look, that on anyone else, would be a  _don't be such an utter twat_ look, but on Harry it's more of a scandalized disbelief. "You're the most popular boy in school. Everyone knows that."

Harry's mumbling now, and he ducks his head, pretending to be reading his history book. Louis knows he's pretending, because he's on the credits page.

Louis wonders if anyone knows about _Harry_ , about his favourite colour, the current song he's got on replay on his iPod, what committees _he's_ on, because Harry's got to be on something.

He feels unbearably guilty when he realises people don't even know Harry's real name.

If Louis was a better person, he'd probably say something meaningful and deep right now, but he can't form the words, so they just sit there in silence.

Louis is an asshole, but that doesn't make him feel better today.

 

 

After class, Louis grabs his bag and leaves without looking at Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I'm off to a Halloween party, so please leave comments and kudo that I can read when I get back :)
> 
> KUDOS WHOEVER GOT THE TEEN WOLF REFERENCE :)


	3. I've Been Keeping An Eye On Your Movements

"I think I want to join the football team. Can I have your chips?"

Harry blinks, and in his brief moment of weakness, Niall snags his chips. They're sitting in the corner of the canteen, a small table off to the side. Sometimes they eat in the common room, but Niall had practically dragged Harry downstairs, mumbling something about chocolate chip cookies.

"You want to join the football team?" Harry asks doubtfully, unscrewing the cap of his water. "Why?"

Niall shrugs cheerfully, ripping open a salt packet. "I like footie. I'm a good goalie, and it's a good team. And Zayn Malik is on it."

Harry puts his drink down slowly, eyeing Niall suspiciously. "Zayn Malik?"

Niall is suddenly very interested in his food. Well, not that Niall isn't always interested in food, but it's not normally accompanied by a faint pink blush.

"Zayn Malik? As in Zayn Malik who smokes by the field, in a black leather jacket and has tatoos on his chest?"

"He's trying to quit, I heard him say it," Niall mumbles, then freezes, glancing up at Harry, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Niall," Harry says seriously, "Are you going to go play football because you want to, or because you want to see Zayn Malik in football shorts?"

Niall's sexuality has never been a problem, he likes girls and boys (or in his words "he doesn't mind what hole it goes in to"), so it's not homophobia that makes Harry groan when Niall nods sheepishly.

"Niall! The guy's a dick. He's on the football team, he wears leather jackets, the guy thinks he's God's gift!"

"Actually, that prize goes to Louis Tomlinson," Niall says, and begins to eat his chips again, "And  _I know,_ Hazza, but Zayn's so, so, so hot!"

"He's not even gay," Harry groans, which is really hard, because Niall is doing his puppy face. 

Niall smiles unabashedly. "Neither was Macbeth."

Harry gapes at him. "What?"

"Macbeth wasn't the king," Niall says slowly, face scrunched in deep concentration, "But then the witches turned up and predicted it and then  _he became king."_

Niall looks absurdedly pleased with himself at this anology. Harry cocks his head to one side. "Soo," he drawls, "In this scenario, you're the witches...and Zayn is Macbeth."

Niall flashes him a toothy grin. "Yep! See, I have used my English Literature homework to relate to my love life. I'm going to breeze through A-Levels."

Niall looks so pleased with this, Harry doesn't have the heart to tell him Macbeth doesn't get off with any of the witches at any point in the play.

 

 

Harry has no idea how he's been dragged out to the school fields, in the freezing cold, to sit on the benches near the astroturf, but here he is.

He's pretty sure that's something to do with the fact Niall is freakishly strong, and Harry is his best friend. Checking out your best friend's crush is compulsary, even if said crush is a potential douche. Correction, especially is said crush is a potential douche.

Harry settles onto the bench, fidgeting when his bum touches the cold metal. He hopes it's not actually damp, and he's got a wet patch on his trousers. Like he needs even more hassel.

Niall goes bounding across the pitch like a bouncing, blond blur. He's wearing his grey trackies, had finally decided on them after an entire lunchtime of discussing sportswear.

Harry sees a familiar figure slope across the turf; Zayn Malik, all easy grace and sloping gait. Harry watches as he puts out his cigarette then carelessly tosses it to the ground.

(Harry thinks this is stupid and a fire hazard. Niall looks like he's going to pee his pants at this manly display of rougishness)

Harry's got his sociology book out, going over social construction in childhood, when he hears a shout and looks up. Louis' come onto the pitch.

He takes a minute to realise Louis looks  _good._ He's walking onto the pitch from the other gate, so Harry can clearly see the black and white kit. Tomlinson 17 emblazed in black over the back. 

Harry's eyes are drawn to the strong muscles in his legs, his tanned calves lean and toned. The white t-shirt pulls across his shoulders, hiding the broad back muscles. Louis is petite, as short as Niall, if not shorter, but there's a reason he's Captain. He walks the cofident stride of someone who know's he's the peak of athletic fitness. His shorts are almost as tight as his skinny jeans, the black material shiny, and showing the curves of -

\- Harry realises his skin is flushed, and there's a slow prickles of arousal in his stomach, and he's checking out Louis Tomlinson's bum.

Harry falls off the bench.

 

Louis is pretty sure the blond kid is high.

If not high, then possibly has ADHD. Or maybe he's just drunk a litre of coke, because the kid is bouncing off the walls. Louis recognises him; he's in Louis' Music class, he's wicked talented on the guitar. 

"Who's the blond?" Zayn asks Louis, as Niall chats to their midfielder, Josh, practically bouncing on the spot.

Louis glances at Zayn - Zayn's currently not so subtly checking out Niall's ass. No wonder, Zayn's got a thing for blondes.

Louis snorts. Yeah, a thing for ripping off their clothes and fucking them into the mattress. He's about to jab Zayn in the ribs, when Nick fucking Grimshaw saunters onto the pitch.

Louis  **hates** Nick Grimshaw.

Louis suspects he hates Nick because he's eerily similar to Louis himself. Loud, cocky and smarmy. He's even got quiffy hair like Louis. People actually like Louis though, because Louis is not a gigantic prat.

If you haven't picked up on it, Nick Grimshaw is a gigantic prat.

Ever since Louis started the team way back in Year 10, when Louis had stupid Bieber hair and thought skateboarding was cool, Nick has tried out for goalie. Every year, Louis has to let Nick and Mark share matches, because while Mark is a good lad, he and Nick are of the same ability.

What Louis needs is a really good goalie, and then Louis can put Mark in defence, and ship Nick to bench, FOREVER. Hahahahaha.

"Alright, Tommo?" Nick smirks, fluffing up his hair even further. 

"Nick," Louis grounds out through gritted teeth. Louis steps forward, setting his shoulders.

"Right, listen up," he barks, hands on his hips. Zayn says he's only ever serious when he's coaching football. Louis disagrees - he's not serious, he's close to dictatorship.

"We've got a new face," Louis says, nodding at Niall, who beams and waves. Seriously, does this guy bleed sunshine or something? "So, we're going to start with shuttle runs. I'll be reviewing places this session, so we'll see who stays and who'll get swapped in later, okay?"

One of the best things about being Captain, is while he has to be double as fit, he also gets to watch everyone slog their guts out in an effort to impress him.

The best thing about practice is _Niall._

He's fast on his feet, and nimble when they're doing drills, but he's really good in goal. They have a practice match near the end, five versus five, and Niall stops all three shots.

Nick stops one, and lets in two.

Hahahaha.

In the end, Louis can't quite keep the smirk off his face as he offers Niall the goalie position. Nick is fuming, especially when Louis says it's "for the good of the team, Nick," in the most condescending manner he can.

Louis' in high spirits as they trot back, the team shoving each other and joking loudly, when Nick goes: "Why's that freak here?"

Louis glances over, and sees Harry sitting there, head buried in a book. Louis' about to tell Nick to shut up, especially after what Harry told him in History, but Niall beats him to it.

 From the last half hour and a half, Louis' already come to see Niall as some big, blond puppy. But now Niall looks mad, blue eyes flashing.

"Shut it, Grimshaw," he snaps, fists clenched, "He's not a freak, and if he is, at least he's not a twat like you!"

Nick looks startled, but steps forward, lip curling up in disdain. Louis knows he's going to say something particularly cruel, so he steps between them.

"Knock it off," he orders, glaring at them both, "Don't talk about people like that, on or off the field, Grimshaw. And Horan, remember we're a team, okay? We have to act like it."

"Yes, coach," Nick spits, then storms off, swearing under his breath.

Louis turns to Niall, then wishes he hadn't, because he feels as though he's interrupting something.

Zayn's reached to curl a hand around Niall's arm, tan hand striking against white fabric. Niall turns into the touch, blue eyes widening as they meet Zayn's amber ones.

"Horan," Louis snaps, effectively cutting short their cliche romantic comedy moment. So sue him. "You're a good goalie. Take up yoga, drink herbal tea, I don't care, just don't get into fights on the pitch."

Niall nods sheepishly, ducking his head. "Sorry, it's just I'm a little protective of Harry."

Zayn frowns. "Harry?"

"Marcel isn't his real name," Louis and Niall say at the exact same time.

 Zayn looks at Louis.

Niall looks at Louis.

"Yeah, okay, shower time, now," Louis says, and drags Zayn off the pitch by his wrist, Niall waving bemusedly as they go.

Half way across the field, Zayn says: "So,  _Harry."_

 _"_ So _, Niall,"_ Louis shoots back, and Zayn shuts right up.

 

Niall is crouched by the pitch, pulling off his shoes to shake out the stray mud and grass. He looks up as Harry approaches, face breaking into a grin.

 

"Hazza! I made goalie!"

Harry laughs as Niall hugs him, strong arms reaching up to pull the taller boy close.

"I'm so happy for you, Nialler," Harry grins, fluffing up Niall's hair. "And don't think I didn't see you and Zayn's little moment."

He's trying to be disapproving, but it's not really working when Niall looks so happy.

Niall acts a fake swoon. "I'm never washing this again," he sighs, gesturing to the place where Zayn laid his hand, "Never!"

Harry wrinkles his nose. "Yes, you are."

"NEVER!" Niall roars, and tackles Harry to the ground.


	4. Niceness Quota

When Harry walks into History the next day, he doesn't even hear Louis call his name. He's not expecting it, too busy putting books into his bag from where someone pushed him in the hall.

"Harry! Styles!"

Louis' looking at him, beckoning him with one hand. Harry glances behind him, certain he's talking to someone else.

"You're the only Harry in the class, you idiot. Come on!"

Cautiously, Harry makes his way to the back, slipping into the seat. Louis' wearing a purple shirt today, one that sets off his tan.

"We have to finish our group projects today," Louis says, raising one eyebrow, "I'm not going to shout across the classroom to you."

"Guess not," Harry mumbles, "Just, don't you - don't you want a different partner?"

He'd expected Louis to insist they carry on separately - or get another partner. Like someone who doesn't wear huge glasses and sweater vests, or get called a geek everyday, and has to eat in the library when Niall's not there.

Louis looks at him. "Do you want a new partner?"

Harry recoils at once. "No, of course not!"

Louis sighs, as if it's very taxing dealing with mere mortals. "Well, glad that's sorted. Really made my day."

Harry can't help his pout, not sure if Louis' mad at him or not. Louis looks at him, and his face seems to soften.

"Look," he says, running a hand through his caramel coloured quiff, "I may have been a teensy, tiny bit hostile with you the other day."

Louis cocks his head to one side. "Probably shouldn't have threatened to break your fingers. Oh well, we're all prone to one violent outburst - you're a prime example of that."

He shrugs. "I'm not saying I'm buying you a friendship bracelet. Just, we get work together without wanting to shove bamboo sticks under each others fingernails."

Harry gapes at him. "I don't want to shove bamboo sticks under your fingernails."

"Don't sweat it, babe," Louis says causally,"I want to shove bamboo sticks under everyone's fingernails."

Harry tries very hard not to show how much Louis Tomlinson calling him  _babe_ affects him. Obviously, he's not doing a very good job because his face turns magenta.

Harry's still not sure where this is going, apprehensive that this is some kind of joke. Louis must read it in his face, because he sighs.

"Look," he says firmly, "Your mate Niall managed to bench Grimshaw's arse. He's a good goalie, you're his best friend, you're probably not a psycho. Sooo, for the sake of our History project, you don't have to worry about me kicking your puppy, okay?"

Harry doesn't have a puppy, but he gets what Louis' saying. He pauses, looking Louis in the eyes for the first time. They're a deep, deep blue, and they look sincere.

"Okay," he says tentatively, "We can...work together."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Simplify my apology speech if you want. We're good, okay?"

Harry's about to reply, when he stops.

Louis' holding out his hand, pink lips curved into a smirk at his own wit.

Harry takes a deep breath, then shakes Louis' hand. Louis' hand is small in his, warm to the touch. His fingers curl around Harry's, and Harry feels a little shiver run through him.

"So," Louis grins, pulling his hand away. Harry can still feel the warmth of Louis' fingers.

"So," Harry mumbles, and prays his hand wasn't sweaty.

 

 

Louis' pretty sure he's used up his niceness quota. He didn't flip out at Harry, in fact he very nearly apologised. Thank God, he managed to catch himself in time.

Louis did the right thing. Niall was good at footie, and Louis' felt oddly protective of Harry since the Grimshaw incident. Plus it's easier if he plays nice, especially since they've got to work together.

(Louis is very aware he doesn't play nice. He plays dirty, and mean, and with a very loose set of morals. Louis doesn't give subsidiarys or second chances, and he can hold grudges to his dying breath.

Louis' also aware his internal rambling sounds a lot like badly formed excuses.)

Anyway, Louis' had a brief personality flip, and didn't steal Harry's glasses. He's looking forward to spending lunch bitching with Zayn.

Which is why, when Zayn greets Louis with a sunny grin, Louis backs off.

"Oh no," he growls, backing away with his hands in the air. "You are the King of the aloof pout. You get that trade mark lip curve back on your face right now. You only flash your teeth when you've done something."

"Louis," Zayn beams, which is really disturbing because normally Zayn is all Mr Darcy brooding, "Louis. My palliest of pals, the star of my heart, my snuggle bunny -"

"Fuck off," Louis says flatly. "Zayn. What. Did. You. Do."

He answers his own question when he sees Zayn's obviously redid his hair since he's last seen him, and that he's taken off his leather jacket, exposing his strong, tanned forearms.

"Oh my God, you are NOT leaving for that Irish kid, Zayn, don't you dare -"

Zayn shakes his head quickly. "I'm not leaving you for him." He pauses. "I, er, invited him to have lunch with us."

Louis punches him in the shoulder. "No, no way. I'm not sitting there while you make googly bear eyes at each other, and feed each other chips, and swoon over how Niall sweats pixie dust -"

"You won't be a third wheel," Zayn interrupts, "Because Harry's coming to."

Louis can physically feel his jaw drop. "No, no way -"

Zayn sighs, as if it's _Louis_ being unreasonable, the asshole, "Look, I thought you were getting on with him -"

Louis punches him again, and Zayn pushes him back. "He shoved me into a locker, I threatened him with bodily harm, his mate got Grimshaw benched, we kissed and made up. That's it, okay?"

"You want to kiss him?" Zayn asks innocently, and Louis throws up his hands in frustration.

"Zayn, you don't even know Harry and Niall. Sure, they were in our classes but they weren't even a blip on my rader before yesterday. Not to mention,  _Harry -"_

Zayn frowns, eyes darkening. "Louis, are you embarrassed to be seen with them? None of that popularity stuff matters anymore -"

"Don't be stupid. I'm not embarrassed, I just don't want to sit with that glasses wearing freak -"

"Oh."

There are moments in life where you know without a doubt, what ever comes after is going to be excruciatingly painful and awkward.

This is one of those moments.

Harry's standing behind them, mouth open in surprise. There's hurt written across his face, his eyes full of pain. He pushes those stupid glasses up his nose.

His bottom lip is trembling. He looks as though he's going to cry.

"I have to go to the library," he stammers, and all but runs away.

Zayn shoves him, hard, but Louis doesn't even notice. He's too busy running after Harry. He keeps seeing Harry's face in his mind, those green eyes glossy with tears.

"Harry! Harry, wait up!" he calls, running after him. Thank God for football, or he'd look even more of an idiot.

He finally catches up with him, and grabs the back of his vest. He regrets it instantly, the way Harry recoils as if Louis will hit him.

"Harry," Louis says desperately, "Harry, listen."

 "What do you  _want?"_ Harry bursts out, fists clenched, body trembling, "I thought - I thought we were okay, after History, you -"

Shit, Harry's really upset. Louis feels so guilty, like a stone weighing down his chest. His throat feels thick and scraped.

"Look," Louis says, heart thudding, "I haven't - I haven't really told anyone this, but my Dad abandoned us when we were little, okay?"

He looks away, kicks the ground with one red Toms, as memories of screaming and slammed doors echo in his head.

"So, I forget I don't have to prove myself to Zayn," Louis continues, eyes focusing on a stain on the floor. "That's why I said those things. I'm scared he's going to leave, so I try to be - be over the top so I have his attention."

Great. Now he sounds like a psycho. 

"I'm not possessive or anything," - because he's not, Louis' never been jealous or angry with Zayn like that, in fact he's constantly try to fix Zayn up with people.

"It's just sometimes I'm a bit too harsh, because then I'm - I'm not pathetic. I'm funny or sassy and can protect myself."

Louis suddenly realises he's admitted every single feeling he's ever had, one's he didn't _even know_ he had, to Hary Styles.

They're true, though. He has to be over the top, and loud, in striped shirts and bright jeans, to prove he can deal. Louis has to make snap judgements and snarky comments about people like, well, Harry, because it's all part of his act.

Something warm wraps around his wrist, and Louis starts, realises it's Harry's hand. He looks down, almost mesmerized by the long, white fingers. Harry's hands are huge.

"It's okay," Harry says quietly, and Louis finally looks up to see Harry's eyes are soft. 

Louis nods, and straightens up. He's not sure why it was so important to make sure Harry understand. Harry's hurt had me  _him_ hurt, and suddenly it had been imperative Harry was - okay.

"So," Louis says in a small voice, "Could we maybe forget my lack of brain to mouth filter, and go to lunch before Zayn gets his mirror out?"

Harry's still tentative, eyelashes fluttering. "You don't have to," he says, "It's cool, we never, like, talked that much -"

"We'll talk now," Louis says determinedly, slighty more balanced now Harry's not almost crying, "I love to talk. I talk all the time. Let's talk. Right now."

Harry giggles, looking at Louis funny. "You're weird..."

"Aha! Talking!" Louis booms, and feels all warm inside when Harry smiles again.

"Okay," Harry says, and they fall into step, making their back to the canteen.

"I hope Niall hasn't eaten everything in the canteen, yet," Harry mutters, and Louis tries not to notice how Harry lights up at Louis' laugh.

(He fails miserably.)


	5. Getting  Caught In The Rain (With No Pina Colada)

Harry's at the football pitch again, only this time it's raining.

Actually, forget that. It's as if the entire Pacific Ocean has been transferred into the clouds, and then spilled out onto this one area.

Harry can barely see Niall, his glasses are drenched through, and everytime he dries them, they quickly get smudged again. It doesn't matter he's hovering in the changing room doorway; it is a long accepted plight of glasses wearers that if it's raining, the lenses are going to get wet.

It's times like these he wishes he wore contacts; although the opticians said he might not need them anymore - just for reading and small screens. Maybe not even then. Apparently, his eyes have improved a lot.

(Actually, the opticians been saying something along these lines for the past year, it's just Harry likes the security of thick, wire frames. Maybe it's time to change that.) 

If he squints, he thinks he can see Louis' brown quiff, but that may be wistful thinking.

In the past week - since what Harry's mentally named "The-canteen-seating-apalooza"- he's done a lot of wistful thinking about Louis.

Louis sits next to him full time in History now. Well, Harry sits next to Louis at the back, but Louis lets him. They sit together at lunch too, and they've currently got a running bet on how long it'll take for Zayn and Niall to get their acts together.

Louis is surprisingly cool with Niall and Zayn being more than platonic besties. Harry had been eating his tuna sandwich the other day, when Louis had said: "I'd wish they'd just fuck already."

Niall and Zayn were being repulsively adorable; Niall was cooing over Zayn's art work, and Zayn looked as though he might swoon.

It was crudely phased, but still an understandable view, but Harry had been so shocked he had blurted: "Are you okay with that?"

Louis had stiffened, put down his pasta and given Harry a hard look. "Are you?" he'd asked, tone like steel.

"Well, of course I am," Harry had replied, slightly bewildered, and Louis had just nodded.

"Good," he said, and that was that.

While a lack of homophobia is certainly an admirable quality, Harry's definitely considering putting "playing football" as one of Louis' bad ones.

He can make out someone making a cutting movement with their hand, and then the team begin to run towards the changing room. Harry moves in further to let them through.

When Niall sees Harry, he tackles him to the floor.

Niall is heavy, and sweaty, and  _wet,_ and cackles madly the entire time. Harry makes vague noises of protest as Niall rubs his hair in Harry's face, making his cheek wet and dislodging his glasses.

"You're mean," Harry mumbles, when he can breathe again, and Niall snorts, climbing off him.

"Thought you should be wet as well, mate," he grins, and Harry can't help but laugh, especially when Niall makes a big show of straightening his sweater vest.

"You think we were good?" Niall asks, as he strips off his soaking footie top. Harry hands him his spare.

"Couldn't really see you," he says honestly, "But I bet you were great."

Niall beams at him, punching him gently in the shoulder. "Thanks, mate."

Niall pulls on his trainers, brow crinkling as he listens to the rain hammer on the roof. "Christ, it's really chucking it down, isn't it? I've got to walk home in this."

"Do you want me to give you a ride?" Zayn asks.

Zayn's pulling on his leather jacket, and he throws a smile at Harry. Harry nods back, but is a bit distracted when Louis comes around the corner.

Louis' in trackies, pulling on a hoodie. His hair is fluffy, and Harry finds it strange seeing Louis in soft clothes, instead of his customary chinos, striped t-shirts, suspenders.

He's texting furiously on his phone, and Harry wonders who he's texting. Then he decides he doesn't care. Shut up.

Niall is looking at Zayn, pulling on his grey hoodie and zipping it up. "What, on your bike?"

Zayn nods, and Harry can see how hard he's trying to keep his cool. He wish Niall could.

"Yeah," Zayn says carelessly, though Harry can see his cheeks pinken slightly under his tanned skin. "You live a couple of streets from me, right? And I've got a spare helmet."

"Wait, what are we talking about?" Louis butts in, glancing up from his phone.

Zayn looks at him, widening his eyes slightly. "I was just offering Niall a ride home."

"What?" Louis asks, frowning, "I thought you were giving me a ri-"

Zayn kicks Louis, hard in the shin. Then he gestures with his head to Niall.

"Oh right," Louis says through gritted teeth, because his shin is most likely throbbing, "I forgot. You definitely didn't offer me a ride home."

Harry lets out a little snort at Louis' expression, and Louis' eyes flick to his. He gives Harry a tight smile, then moves to sit next to him.

Louis' a warm line against his side, and Harry can smell the vanilla shower gel he used. Harry shifts uncomfortably, little pricks of heat running under his skin.

"Is your friend as mental as mine is?" Louis asks, and, no, no, that's much worse because Louis' breath is tickling Harry's ear, and that is not helping the heat in the bottom of his stomach at all.

Harry tries to keep his face impassive, and is thankfully saved by Niall's response.

"Well," the blond says slowly, "I couldn't leave Hazza -"

Harry is a very good friend.

"It's cool, Niall," he says smoothly, and it's not even a lie, not when Niall looks so hopeful, "I've got an umbrella."

Louis perks up. "Have you?"

"No," Harry mutters, and they both sag further down onto the bench.

"Well, okay," Niall says, and Zayn grins. Harry watches the way his brown eyes go all soft, and gives up.

Niall and Zayn leave, and Harry and Louis sneak to the doors to watch. It's still hammering it down, and Harry can barely make out Zayn gently adjusting Niall's helmet, and Niall wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist.

Once they've roared off into the sunset - cue theme song and credits - Louis turns to Harry with a grave expression.

"Harold," he says stoically, and the intensity of his gaze makes Harry shiver involuntary.

"We're going to have to run."

 

Harry's pulse is thudding in his ears, but he can barely hear it over the rain slamming into the pavement. His bag jars uncomfortably against his back, and there's water soaking into everything, his vest, his shirt, his trousers, down his back.

He's never laughed so much in his life.

His ribs are aching, as Louis skirts a puddle. Louis lets out a whoop. He looks beautiful, hair plastered to his face, eyelashes wet, like some kind of siren.

Harry grins so hard his face hurts, glasses bouncing on his nose. He slips as they run down the street, feet slapping the pavement. He stumbles, and Louis grabs his hand.

His hand is slick with rain, and their palms slide against each other, untill Louis' fingers slip into place, their hands joining, like two lines melding together, smoothing out the jagged edges.

"Come over to mine to get dry!" Harry shouts over the rain, because Louis' hand in his makes him feel brave and reckless and dizzy, as if a glow is spreading through him, lights dancing under his skin.

"Thanks, mate!" Louis shouts, and kicks a puddle, and they run and run, and their hands stay linked.

 

 

Louis only gets a small glimpse of Harry's house. His vision is split into sections by the rain; he sees a white door and a pathway and then Harry's tugging him up the steps.

It's as if everything slows when they stumble inside.

The light in the hallway is bright, and Louis can hear is breathing, how loud and ragged it is in the sudden silence.

He realises their hands are still entwined, and they both pull apart at the same time. Louis waits for his chest to stop heaving, before he looks at Harry.

Harry's wiping his glasses on his jumper, and Louis notes how his eyes are green, and wonders how that wasn't relevant till now.

"Harry? Who's this?"

Louis' head snaps up, blinking at the girl infront of him. She must be Harry's sister, but her hair is curly, naturally he guesses, cascading down her back.

"You don't look like Harry!" Louis blurts, and then feels like an idiot, because,  _duh._

"Did the breasts give it away?" the girl asks, and Harry groans.

"Gemmaaa," he moans, in the tone Louis uses when his little sisters are putting paint in his cereal or something.

"The pink bra straps did give me an inkling," Louis says seriously, and Gemma laughs.

"Gem, we're going to get dry, do you have the hairdryer?" Harry asks, and Louis glances at him. He's looking anxious, probably worried they'll get a cold, and Louis barely resists cooing.

"No, it's in the bathroom. I'm going to put in some pizza in the oven, Mum's got the late shift. Is your sassy friend staying?"

Louis grins; he likes Gemma. "Unfortunately, the sassy friend can't, because said sassy friend has to -"

"Yeah, okay," Harry says, and tugs Louis up the stairs.

Harry's house is nice. The upstairs is painted white, with light blue walls. There's four rooms, three bedrooms Louis guesses and a bathroom. He sees a baby picture of Harry, and vows to go back and look at it later.

Harry grabs the hairdryer, and hands Louis a towel. He pauses, fiddling with the hem of his jumper, glancing around nervously. He's obviously worried about Louis being in his house.

"Do you want some spare trousers?" he asks, "Yours are soaked."

Louis shrugs. "Got any that aren't freshly pressed or have parrallel lines?"

Harry looks at him sideways, realises he's joking and lets out a little huff of indignation. Louis laughs when Harry throws a pair of trackies at him, catching them before they hit his face.

Louis grins at him. "I'll get changed in the bathroom, unless you want me to strip here, Styles?"

"Please don't," Harry replies automatically, and Louis laughs as Harry's cheeks turn pink, going into the bathroom.

Louis drys his hair as best he can. His shirts not too wet, and he slips on the joggers. They're obviously old, pre-growth spurt, but the ends are still way too long.

Louis scowls at them, certain they're mocking him for being compact.

He unlocks the door, bundling his clothes up in his arms as he nudges the door shut behind him.

"You better be decent Styles," he bellows, barging into the room Harry went into, "I won't have my innocence compro-"

Harry looks up at him from where he's perched on the edge of his bed. His face twists into a wry smile. "I doubt you're exactly innocent." He pauses. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Your  _hair,"_  Louis breathes, frozen in place.

"Oh yeah," Harry says sheepishly, shrugging, "It does that. That's why I have to use so much product."

Louis ignores Harry's babbling, because  _Harry's hair._

It's curly, as in reeaally curly, flyaway black curls sweeping across his forehead. It looks soft, and very glossy, dark black strands. It's so different from the slicked backed quiff that Louis' crossing the room before he even knows what he's doing.

"Louis, what -" Harry asks, but cuts off abruptly when Louis sinks his hands into Harry's hair.

Harry's hair is soft and fluffy, slightly warm from the hairdryer. Louis cards through the curls, curling his fingers into the soft strands. His fingers scratch Harrys scalp, and Harry makes this little keening noise at the back of his throat.

Louis freezes, hands still locked in Harry's hair, suddenly painfully aware of what he's doing. He's standing between Harry's thighs, can feel how warm he is, how Harry smells like rain. 

If he looked down, he would be able to kiss Harry.

The thought hits Louis like a bullet, and he inhales sharply, stepping back quickly. 

Harry is blinking at him, green eyes huge, lips parted in shock.

"You should wear your hair like that more often," Louis says, and is proud when his voice only trembles a little.

"Thanks for the tip," Harry says, laughing a little, and his voice is as bad as Louis'.

Harry still looks a little breathless, which is when Louis realises he is semi-hard. And he's wearing tracksuit bottoms.

"Right, I better go," Louis says causally, not at all as if he's sporting a boner. No, no siree, no boner here.

Shut up, Louis.

"Oh, okay," Harry says, and shakes his head a little, "I'll walk to the door."

"What a gentleman," Louis teases, and Harry grins.

"I try," he smirks.

As Louis' trotting home, after thanking Harry for the trousers and brushing away Harry's concerns about walking back, he can't stop grinning.


	6. Niall's Magic Mouth (So he says)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Nick Grimshaw is lovely in real life :) and he did look awesome with pink hair :)
> 
> Chapter dedicated to the lovely people at Tumblr who keep liking my links to this, and even reblogging them :)

"Zayn rides a motorbike."

Niall is sprawled over Harry's bed, kicking his legs up and down like a child. Gemma had asked if Harry was setting up a home for lost boys when Niall had knocked on the door, only half an hour after Louis had gone.

Niall rolls over and flicks Harry's ear. "Hazza, he rides a motorbike!"

Harry hands Niall a piece of pizza, which seems to appease him. Harry continues typing his English essay.

He was supposed to be doing his History essay, but that just makes him imagine Louis' hands carding through his hair, so Macbeth it is.

"Zayn rides a motorbike," Niall says, for the twelth time. He pauses. "I would quite like to have sex on a motorbike."

"Niall!"

"What don't say you weren't imagining it. I know I'm gorgeous."

"Shut up," Harry grins, and throws a piece of pepperoni at him. Niall catches it in his mouth, grinning.

Niall settles back down, chewing. "Hey, were you and Tomlinson okay?" 

Harry shrugs, keeping his eyes resolutely on the screen. "Yeah, we just walked home."

Niall nods. He rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. "Do you think Zayn's actually gay?"

Harry shuts the laptop, and crawls onto the bed. Niall immediately shuffles over to him, laying his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry slings an arm around Niall's waist.

"Feeling a bit insecure, Nialler?" Harry asks sympathetically.

Niall snuggles closer. "Well, I figured I could offer him a blow job, and then work from there," he says candidly.

Harry shoves him. "Niall!"

"Please, I have a magic mouth, everyone says so -"

" _You_ say so."

"Your mum says so."

They both dissolve into giggles at the stupid comeback. Niall laughs loudly, hiding his face into Harry's shoulder. They settle down, Niall slumped against him.

"Don't worry, Niall," Harry says, patting his head, "I'm sure Zayn likes you."

"Yeah," Niall agrees, "Guess I could have a more subtle approach though."

"Yeah," Harry says deadpan, "Maybe save the promise of sexual favours for a bit later."

"Okey dokey," Niall hums, and Harry grins, "I like your hair like that, by the way. You should have it like that more often."

"Hm," Harry says, and offers Niall some more pizza.

 

 

When Louis walks into form the next day, he sees Liam patting Zayn on the back, Zayn's head rested on his hands. Louis can feel his blood freezing, and he rushes to his seat.

"Zayn, Zayn what's wrong?" Louis demands, eyes flicking to Liam. Liam shrugs his shoulders, big brown eyes wide.

"He just attached to me in the corridor," Liam whispers, face nervous. 

"Zayn," Louis says, shaking his shoulder, "Zayn, what's wrong?"

Zayn lifts his hand from the desk, and says: "Niall's got a cold"

"Oh, for FUCKS SAKE!" Louis snarls, kicking Zayn's chair. "I'm not doing this, I'm not holding your hand because you've got blue balls!"

Liam is glancing between them, nose wrinkled in concentration. "I'm sorry, what's going on? Is Zayn okay?"

Louis says "YES" the same time Zayn moans "NO."

Louis glares at Zayn. "Zayn wants to get off with Niall Horan -"

Liam frowns. "Your new goalie?"

"Yeah, and he offered him a ride on his bike yesterday, because it was pissing it down -"

"I thought Zayn gave you a ride home?" Liam asks.

Louis gives him an impromptu hug. "See, Zayn, see, Liam knows you shouldn't blow off your friends for a piece of cock!"

"Louis, get off me," Liam whines. Louis' still hugging him in what Zayn calls "Tomlinson's Python Grip."

"Oh, sorry. Anyway, I'm guessing Niall has a cold from the rain, which means Zayn can't bask in the glow of Niall's hair all day."

"It's dyed," Zayn mumbles, "Liam, cuddle me."

Liam doesn't have much choice, Zayn flings himself on Liam's lap and prevents any escape.

Liam looks slightly worried at his sudden lap full of Zayn. "It's okay, Zayn. I'm, er, sure Niall will be back tomorrow."

"Don't pander to him, Liam," Louis orders, "Zayn stop being a whiny bitch."

"Fuck off, Louis."

"You're ridiculous," Louis snaps, and resolutely ignores Zayn for a full five minutes.

(Then Louis lets Zayn crawl into his lap, because Zayn _is_ his best friend.)

 

 

Harry's feeling jumpy as he walks down the corridor. He can't lie, his heart did sink a bit when Niall rang him this morning, barely audible over the sneezing.

It's ironic that Niall got the cold, not him, especially as Harry's sure Niall made the most of Zayn's body heat. Harry's positive he's got the short straw, though, when he turns the corner to see Nick Grimshaw.

Harry knows Nick's in a particularly bad mood this week. They're only a month or two into their A-Levels, but Harry's heard Nick is already behind in Media.

It was close him getting sixth form anyway, Harry remembers him constantly getting pulled out for extra help during GCSE's. Harry's always thought it was the reason he hated him so much - because Harry excelled in academics.

Nick spots him right away. He's leaning against the lockers with his friend Jordan. His face hardens when he sees Harry.

"Hey, Marcel," he drawls, and Harry flinches at the name, "Where's your little friend? Anything permanent?"

His friend sniggers, as if Nick is great comedian. He's not. He's not remotely funny, not to Harry.

"Leave me alone, Nick," Harry spits, trying to stop himself from shaking. He clutches his books tighter to his chest.

Nick lets out an incredulous laugh. "Getting cocky, Marcel? Think because your mate's on the footie team, you're still not a complete fuck up?"

"Jealousy's not very flattering, Nick," Harry says firmly, even though his heart is thumping in his chest. He swallows, hard.

Nick's face contorts in anger, and he pushes himself off the lockers, striding towards Harry. "You want to shut your mouth, Marcel."

Harry panicks as Nick comes towards him, Jordan in tow. He takes a step backwards, feet slipping on the floor.

A TA walks around the corner at that moment, probably on her lunch break, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief.

He moves past Nick, almost pressing himself to the wall, walking just fast enough it isn't a run.

He's not paying attention, too busy trying to breathe, so he's in the canteen before he realises it. He sits down at a random table, taking care putting his books down on the seat next to him.

There's a buzz of people behind him. Year 10 girls shrieking about the state of their hair, some Year 9's arguing over who should win X Factor this year, tired looking supply teachers grabbing their food and then leaving as soon as possible.

"Harry. Harry. Hazza."

Harry blinks, and there's Louis, standing in front of him. Harry recognises Liam Payne next to him; Liam's always been nice to Harry, but Liam is nice to everyone. 

"I'm not sitting here," Louis states, hands on his brightly coloured jeans - red today.

"Oh," Harry says, heart sinking a little. It's not as though he expected Louis to come over just to talk to him, but the fact he thinks Harry's desperate hurts.

Harry looks down at his lunch box. Louis clears his throat loudly, and when he looks up, Louis' got one eyebrow raised.

"I'm not going to drag you," Louis sighs, "You're freakishly tall -"

"Louis," Liam cuts in, nudging Louis' shoulder.

"Sorry, I'll just nicen that up for Liam, maybe tie a little bow round it -"

Liam shakes his head. "Harry, I know Niall isn't here, but do you want to come sit with us?"

"Liam, why are you making it seem he has a choice?" Louis asks, throwing Liam a cheeky grin, "What's he going to say?"

He adopts a deep voice, and says ridiculously slowly: "I'm, like, just going to sit - to sit down - on this chair, the blue one maybe, or -"

It's so much like Niall, and his usual teasing, Harry aches a little.

"Come on," Louis whines, and grabs Harry's books so he has no choice but to follow him.

Liam shoots him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I'd say he's not normally that bad but, well, he normally is."

Harry smiles. "Thanks for letting me sit with you guys. Niall isn't here, so I didn't know if you would want me to."

He immediately wants to cram the words back into his mouth, like he couldn't sound anymore desperate, but Liam just sends him a strange look.

"Well, we're friends, right?" Liam says, and Harry almost trips over his chair.

Louis' talking to Zayn as he moves over a bit for Harry. Harry's heart flips when he realises that Louis deliberately saved the chair for him - Liam is sitting next to Zayn.

"Zayn, get a fucking grip or I'll break all your mirrors," Louis threatens, stabbing at his pasta.

Zayn's sketching in his Art book. "Hey, Harry."

"Hey," Harry smiles, and then Zayn goes straight back to sniping at Louis.

"Shut up, Lou, or I'll cut all your suspenders in half."

Louis puts a hand to his chest, gasping exaggeratedly. "Zayn, you villain."

"How did you pass GCSE drama," Zayn says flatly, and Liam laughs.

It's one of the best lunch times Harry's ever had, and if he can't help shivering everytime Louis' knee knocks against his, well, no one needs to know.


	7. Wake Me Up When It's All Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to caitlin_lettizz, because she is seems to be the only one reading this :)

"So, how can I convice you to go to Jake's party on Friday?"

Harry smiles at Louis as he slides into his usual seat in History. Well, what is now his usual seat, something Harry's still not used to.

"I'm open to bribery," Harry says flippantly, and Louis grins.

"I'll let you borrow my blue pencil."

"Sold."

Louis laughs, and Harry tries not to watch the arc of his neck. Instead, he tugs at his tie. He's feeling a little silly in it later, not that anyone says anything, it's just -

-just around Louis he doesn't feel as though wearing jeans once in a while would be bad.

Maybe even a t-shirt. Live dangerously.

"Good, because Zayn made me promise to ask you," Louis says, rocking back on his chair legs, "I'll only go if Zayn does, and Zayn will only go if Niall does, and Niall will only go if you do."

"You know if you wanted Niall to go, you could just tell him there's going to be food?" 

"Oh, well then I don't need you," Louis says, waving one hand, "You're free to go."

"Thanks," Harry replies dryly, and Louis snickers.

Harry doesn't want to sound like a teenage girl before her first date, but he can't help fidgeting. "I don't have anything to wear. I can't exactly wear a sweater vest."

Louis shrugs. "Just come to mine before, I'll help you choose something that isn't argle."

Harry blinks. "You'd do that?"

Louis looks at him funny. "Well, yeah. Not that you can't pull off the preppy look, but it's a bit overstated for a party. Plus, I don't think Vodka washes out of sweater vests."

Louis looks him up and down, lingering glance from head to toe. Harry fidgets under the cool blue gaze.

He smirks. "I've seen you with your hair down, Harold. Wait till I get you out of your clothes."

Harry's not entirely sure he's joking.

(Part of Harry doesn't want him to be joking.)

 

 

When Harry knocks on the door to Louis' house, Louis opens the door with glitter in his hair and paint on his cheek.

"If that's your idea of a makeover," Harry says, "I'm asking Niall to help me."

"Oh, ha, ha, ha," Louis says, rolling his eyes, "Look, I was just -"

There's a squeal, then two very small girls smack into Louis' legs. Harry immediately sees they are the glitter instigators; they're holding drawings with lots of glitter and glue and the word "LOOEE" in messy letters.

"Who's this?" one of the little girls says, clutching Louis' leg. She's got a gap in her teeth, and glitter in her hair.

"This is Harry," Louis says, reaching down to pick her up. "You can draw a picture of him next."

Harry scowls at Louis, then smiles at the little girl. "Hey."

There's a tugging at his trousers, and Harry looks down to see the other little girl - she must be her twin sister.

"Can I wear your glasses?" 

"Phoebe, don't bother Harry -" Louis begins, but Harry's already bending down and handing them over.

Phoebe beams and shoves them on her nose. She looks adorable in them, huge frames on her tiny face.

The other little girl immediately starts clamouring. "Looweee, Looweee, I want to try them on!"

Louis sighs, and glances at Harry. "You don't mind? Daisy and Phoebe can be right pains in the bum."

Harry shakes his head, grinning. The sight of Louis being so gentle with his younger sisters, so sweet, makes something twist in his gut.

Louis puts Daisy down, ruffling her hair. "Don't break them! Harry won't be able to see without and then he'll be blind. Forever."

Daisy and Phoebe gasp, little mouths opened wide. "Forever!"

Louis nods gravely. "Forever. So you have to be careful."

The little girls fervently promise, cross your heart and hope to die, that they'll look after them.

Louis stands up, brushing off his jeans. "Sorry, they're a nightmare. Should be going to bed soon."

"Louis?" 

A woman comes out of the room down the hallway, and Harry knows it's Louis' Mum. He smiles nervously, not exactly sure what to do.

"Mum, this is Harry. Can you stop the twins assaulting his visual aids?"

Louis' mum smiles at him. "Hello, love. Call me Jay. Now, Daisy and Phoebe, if you are not upstairs and brushing your teeth in five seconds, there will be no bed time story!"

This is apparently a very serious threat, because the little girls go flying up the stairs, Jay following them.

"Come on," Louis says, and Harry follows him up the stairs to Louis' room.

Louis' room looks comfy; he's got his TOMS sprawled across the floor, a laptop on his desk. There's football posters all over his walls, along with photos of him and Zayn.

"Right," Louis says, and Harry is slightly afraid of the look in his eyes."Go shower, Styles."

Harry's a little scared about showering in someone else's shower - it's certainly weird washing his hair alongside a Dora the Explorer flannel.

He towels his hair, leaving it, then awkwardly pulls on a large shirt and trackies he brought so he wouldn't have to walk out semi - naked.

Louis' doing his hair when he walks back in, poufing up his quiff. He's in tight, red jeans and a dark t-shirt that shows off his arms. He looks extremely good.

He turns to look at Harry, smirking. "Nice, Styles, but I think you're taking smart - casual too far. You don't have to be one or the other."

He gestures to a pile of clothes - he'd asked Harry to bring over all the clothes that "didn't look like your grandfather would wear them."

Harry looks at them; there's a checked shirt that he's had for ages, and some black skinny jeans that he's pretty sure Gemma brought him last Christmas.

At Harry's apprehension, Louis rolls his eyes. "They're clothes, Harry. You wear them. Unless you want me to dress you?"

"No!" Harry squeaks, far too quickly, and Louis' cackle echos down the hall after him.

 

 

Louis' flicking through his phone, texting Zayn whilst waiting for Harry. Zayn is 'getting ready' with Niall, which in Louis' book, would mean having sex as quietly as possible when the parents are downstairs.

Louis isn't sure whether they're at that stage in their relationship - he doesn't even know what their relationship  _is,_ just that they practically have bloody love hearts in their eyes when they look at each other.

_To: DJ Malik_

_Hav u and the leprecorn shagged yet_

Simple, but effective.

_From: DJ Malik_

_That's not how you spell leprechaun, and no, we're getting ready for Jake's._

Louis scowls; Zayn wants to be an English teacher, so he always writes his texts with the correct apostrophes and shit.

_To: DJ Malik_

_Is getting ready 4 Jakes a euphenism for getting lubed up?_

_From: DJ Malik_

_You tell me, you're 'getting ready' with Harry._

_To: DJ Malik_

_We are trying on clothes. V. platonically. You can practically see all the platonic. K, going now, 2 b platonic._

Louis can practicallly hear Zayn rolling his eyes from here, but that's when Harry walks in. 

Louis stares.

Harry looks - God, screw Zayn, Harry looks like walking sex. Louis already knows about the power of that hair, and it's as potent as ever, dark curls sticking up in an attractive manner.

Some people just do things attractively. Apparently Harry is now one of them.

His eyes look very green without the glasses, and the shirt is low cut, showing off his collarbones. Louis kind of wants to bite them. The jeans cling to Harry's legs, and Louis no longer thinks of him as a baby giraffe, but as someone he'd like to fuck, yes please, thank you very much, whenever you want, however you want, whatever you want.

Louis feels hot suddenly, face flushing as something curls in his stomach. He coughs once, willing away the second Boner Of Doom, and struggles for words. 

"You look good, Harry," he says softly, and it feels like his God forsaken  _butterflies,_ in his stomach.

Harry's whole face lights up, his eyes wide and innocent, pure happiness crossing his face. He looks so pleased, so soft and vulnerable that Louis wants to hold him and never let go. Harry ducks his head bashfully, which only makes Louis' heart twist further.

"Really?" he asks, tugging at his shirt, "Are you sure this isn't too low?"

Louis can't help but grin at that. "Harry, trust me, you look edible."

Harry blushes, pink spreading across his face. He struggles to answer, and settles for: "You look really good too, Louis."

Louis definitley doesn't blush at that, and he definitley doesn't mumble inconherently, and he definitley does not have a crush on Harry Styles.

 

 

Harry keeps tugging at the t-shirt on the way to Jake's, until Louis threatens to cut his hands off.

"That's not very nice," Harry pouts.

"Neither is not having any hands."

It's kinda cute the way Harry's eyes widen when they get there - Louis forgets he used to be 'Marcel.' It's a pretty average party, the music is loud enough you can feel it, girls in tiny shorts are grinding on half interested guys, there's red cups of suspicious looking concotions everywhere. 

A lot of girls wolf whistle as Harry walks past, and Harry looks shocked. Louis' sending them the Tomlinson Death Glare before he even realises it, and then reasons the girls deserve it, because they are only judging Harry for his looks. Something like that.

Harry looks lost, eyes flicking back and forth, so Louis gently takes his wrist and tugs him alone. He doesn't focus on how soft Harry's skin is below his fingers, just throws a: "Let's find Zayn and Niall!" over his shoulder.

They find Niall and Zayn sitting in one of the rooms. Zayn has got his arm thrown around Niall's shoulders, and they're deep in conversation, as if the world around them doesn't exist, as if there isn't couples grinding on each other a foot away.

Louis almost doesn't want to interupt, but then Niall looks up and sees Harry.

"Hazza!" 

He tackles Harry, and Louis mourns the loss of warm skin. Then Louis kicks himself for being an idiot, and goes to greet Zayn. Zayn has got a faint flush on his cheeks already, a red cup in his hand. 

"How's it going with the Irishman?" Louis shouts into Zayn's ear. Zayn grins and offers Louis his cup, which Louis throws back.

Liam's driving, he passed his test a week ago. Liam doesn't drink because of his kidney - and to be honest, Louis deserves a drink if he's going to be around Harry all night.

"He likes my drawings," Zayn shouts back, squeezing Louis' shoulders, "I see Harold has cleaned up nicely."

"I'd like to get him dirty again!" Louis shouts, and they both begin to laugh uncontrollably. Louis places a hand on Zayn's arm, and bats his eyelashes. "Dance with me, Zaynie baby."

Zayn calls him a twat, but does dance with him, because Zayn is a good friend.

Louis drinks from the red cup, and drinks some more, and everything gets a bit blurry and fuzzy, and drinks some more to get rid of images who pretty boys with curly hair and green eyes and fuckable mouths.

Liam turns up at some point, and Louis isn't sure when he got there, but he gives him a big sloppy kiss. Liam doesn't return it, which,  _rude,_ but Louis can't stop smiling, so it doesn't matter.

"I think my smile is stuck," he slurs at one point. He thinks he's talking to Liam, because his eyes are brownish, browny, browny, like Louis' old dog.

"You look like my dog," he tells maybe-Liam, and maybe-Liam nods, but Louis doesn't like that because it makes his head achey, so he stumbles off somewhere.

He's on the dancefloor, and Louis isn't sure how he got there, but the music is very loud and thumpy. Thumpy. That's a good word.

Louis is doing little movements with his hands, when he feels someone come behind him, someone tall and lean and warm and  _Harry._

 _"_ Harreeee, dance with me," Louis grins, and he grabs Harry's hand which are very big and pulls him infront of him.

Harry's cheeks are pink like a flower, and his curly hair is sticking up from his face, slightly damp with sweat, his eyes glossy.

Louis loops his hands around Harry's neck, and Harry pushes them together, his fucking huge hands on Louis' waist, hot like they're burning him.

Harry pushes his hips against Louis', and Louis groans, pushing back. They move in sync, in this perfect rythmn, grinding against each other, filthy and hot, begging for the right friction. Harry tilts his hips up, and Louis moans, feels Harry's breath hot against his neck, feels the prickles of heat swirling under his skin, closing his eyes and letting pure pleasure run through him -

"Louis! Louis!"

Someone is shouting Louis' name, which isn't very nice, and he pulls away. Harry whines, and presses closer, mouthing at Louis' shoulder.

"Louis!"

Someone is grabbing Louis' arm, pulling him back, away from Harry. It's not-Liam, and Louis pushes him away, wanting to go back to Harry. Not-Liam is tugging him, and swearing, which is mean, and Liam isn't suppossed to be mean.

"For God's sake, Louis, knock it off, I've got to take you home now - Niall, Niall can you take Harry home? Oh, you're kind of busy with Zayn -"

There's someone else, another not-Harry with blond hair. Louis doesn't want a not-Harry.

"A not-Harry? Mate, he's hammered. Look, I'm going to get Harry, you want me to take Zayn?"

There's a moment of fiddling and pushing, and Louis almost falls asleep on Liam, head pounding. Then, a familiar quiff of black hair is pushed towards him.  _Zayn._

Zayn is very happy to see Louis, and hugs him, even though he's all sweaty and gross, and Louis isn't really sure if there's one or two of them. Not-Liam is tugging them both outside, which isn't good 'cause it's  _cold,_ and Louis tells Liam that, in case he doesn't know, very loudly.

Liam is tugging Louis, and Louis straightens up, can sort of make Liam out now, all fluffy brown hair and puppy doggy eyes.

"You have puppy doggy eyes," Louis tells him. Zayn is asleep in the car.

"Thanks," Liam sighs, "Louis, get in the car."

"You're not Harry," Louis says, and turns around and throws up. 


	8. You and I Walk The Fragile Line

Harry spends the entirety of his Saturday wishing he had never been born.

Correction, Harry gets up, stumbles to the bathroom, throws up the content of his stomach, and crawls under his duvet, vowing to never come out again.

He can't believe he got so drunk. It is without a doubt Niall's fault - he let Harry drink all those red cups, knowing Niall would look as fresh as daisy even if he drank double that. He vaguely remembers Niall tucking him in, smacking a kiss to his forehead, so he is partly forgiven. 

It's at 11.23AM on Saturday that Harry remembers grinding on Louis, and he promptly runs to the bathroom. He and the toilet seat are getting very well acquainted. 

The thing is, Harry knows that Louis is attractive. Harry's not exactly worried about his sexuality - he's not really had any chance  _to be_ sexual, with anyone. He'd always figured he'd struggle through sixth form, then go to University and  _experiment,_ like all those bad American High School dramas.

But Louis freaking Tomlinson had barged into his life, with his poufy hair, and his bright jeans, and snarky comebacks, and now Harry is well and truly screwed.

He lets out a laugh when he wonders what  _Marcel_ would think about this, only laughing makes his stomach hurt, so he stops because he really doesn't want to throw up again. 

On Sunday, Harry feel slightly less like he's been hit by a double decker bus. He's in comfy jogging bottoms and a hoodie, and hasn't bothered gelling his hair or putting on his glasses.

Mum's at work, and Gemma's at her boyfriend's, so Harry's cueing up to put  _Love, Actually_ on, when his phone goes off.

Harry frowns when he sees UNKNOWN NUMBER flash across the screen, before pressing the accept button.

"Hello?"

"My sisters want to play dress up," is the reply, and Harry's stomach swoops, because that is definitely Louis' voice.

"They want to re-enact the scene from  _Tangled_ where they hit Flynn Rider repeatedly with a saucepan. I swear to God, Harry, if they come near with anything resembling a cooking utensil I will crush them with a hammer."

Harry bites back a laugh at how frazzled Louis sounds. "Do you want to come over? I'm watching  _Love, Actually."_

"You are a King among men, Harold," Louis cheers, and hangs up.

Harry stares anxiously at the phone for a little while, biting his lower lip. Louis obviously doesn't feel awkward about Friday, he probably doesn't even remember.

That's cool. Completely fine. Harry can do indifference.

(He just has to ignore the fact he moaned Louis' name when he jerked off in the shower this morning, imagining bright red jeans grinding against him.)

Harry sucks in a breath when he opens the door fifteen minutes later, because Louis is absolutely the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

He's in a grey beanie, so only the feathery part of his fringe sticks out. He has black rimmed glasses, and he's in a big grey jumper.

"Hello," Louis says, waving a sweater paw, and Harry is gone, baby, gone.

Thankfully, Louis doesn't notice Harry has stopped working, and just bundles past him into the house, moaning about his sisters. 

"They got out the frying pan, Hazza, and then they got out the wok - seriously, the wok. And then they said we'd do the sing along version. The sing along version. I'm pretty sure sticking pins in my eyes would be less painful."

Harry eases back into functioning like a human, though his heart still aches everytime he looks at Louis.

He should probably worry about that, but Harry is also very good at deflection.

They end up watching  _Love, Actually_ on Harry's big, blue sofa. Louis curled up at one end, Harry on the other.

"Please tell me," Louis demands, through a mouthful of popcorn, "That you had a massive hangover as well."

Harry groans. "Don't even talk about it, I think I spent 88% of my time on Saturday throwing up the content of my stomach."

He grabs a handful of popcorn. "Niall doesn't get hangovers at all, I'm extremely jealous."

Louis snorts. "Zayn does, Zayn's worse than me. I'm banned from his house when he's been drinking the night before, because apparently I offend his eyes."

"Do you think Niall and Zayn kissed or anything at the party? Has he told you anything?"

Louis shakes his head. "If they had, Zayn would be calling me non stop, again and again and again, until I picked up the phone."

Harry nods, thinks about how, at the end of the night, Harry had been the one Niall took home. Harry decides to buy Niall a Mars Bar the first chance he gets.

When  _Love, Actually_ finishes, he puts in  _The Avengers,_ which Louis insists they watch, because it'll impress Zayn.

Harry gets up to grab a drink just as Captain America breaks a punching bag, and when he comes back, Louis scoots over to him.

He presses against Harry's side, warm and soft, and rests his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry freezes, tensing up, suddenly surrounded by  _Louis,_  how he smells like vanilla shower gel, how his feathery hair brushes Harry's neck, how when he sighs Harry can feel the vibration of it.

Cautiously, Harry slides an arm around Louis, pulling him a little closer while his heart beats crazily. Louis snuggles closer, and Harry's breath hitches.

It's warm, and calm, and peaceful, and Harry feels so strong when Louis', well, maybe not in his arms, but definitely in one arm, anyway, and he really never wants this to stop.

"I like your hair like that," Louis mumbles, and Harry vows to wear his hair like that until he's 86, as long as Louis lets him hold him like this.

They don't talk, really. They have a mini discussion about what Avenger everyone would be - it's an unanimous vote that Liam is Captain America - but mostly they just sit there, Louis curled up against Harry, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

When the Avengers are all eating Shwarma, Louis pushes himself up, stretching, and Harry's entire left side feels cold.

Louis stands, wobbling a little, and shoots a grin at Harry, effectively stealing his heart without a second thought. "Coast should be clear, thanks for saving me from the horrors of Disney princesses."

Harry swallows, trying to smile normally, because that's what friends do, right? They cuddle on sofas.

(Actually, he and Niall do that, but that's because a) He doesn't want to sleep with Niall and b) Niall has no concept of personal space.)

"See you at sixth form tomorrow, yeah?" Louis yawns, pulling his beanie down further, "Oh, crap. I need to do my Music homework."

Harry gets up to put his glass in the sink, partly because his Mum will be mad at him if he doesn't, and partly because he's not sure he won't do something stupid, like kiss Louis.

Which would be very, very stupid.

"Is that the one Niall has to do?" he calls, rinsing out the cup and dumping it on the side, "He's in your Music, right?"

"Yeah, he's really good on that guitar of his. Bit invested in it, to be honest, I swear he fondles the strings."

Harry laughs as he pads back into the hall - it's a pretty fair assessment.

"Does Zayn like boys who play guitars?" he asks cheekily, tipping his head to one side, and Louis groans.

"Loves 'em," Louis says, shaking his head, "Those two, I swear."

He tugs the door open, then turns to Harry. "Thanks, Hazza. See you tomorrow. Always drink responsibly."

He does a messy salute, then saunters out, whistling "Love Is All Around Me."

Harry closes the door, then collapses against it, leaning his head back against the cool wood.

He is never drinking again.

 

 

Niall wolf whistles so loudly when he sees Harry on Monday morning, that the little old lady from 5B bangs on her window and calls Niall a hooligan.

Niall laughs, flips her off and offers Harry a packet of crisps.

Harry apologises profusely, wishes the Earth would open up and swallow him, and drags Niall all the way down the street as fast as he can.

"Harry, you look great!" Niall exclaims, and Harry forgives him a little, even though  Mrs. Cole is definitely going to come banging on his door later.

He'd decided to look a bit different, today, wanted to look different for a bit, less like Marcel, more like Harry. Gemma had been lovely - Harry suspects she's wanted to give him a makeover for a long time.

He's in a plain white t-shirt, and dark jeans. Gemma had said it was best to start simply, and then thrown away all of his hair gel.

"But it looks like Hagrid's when it's curly!" Harry had protested, as Gemma tossed the last jar.

Gemma had narrowed her eyes. "Harry," she'd said icily, "I have curly hair. Are you saying I look like Hagrid?"

Harry had stammered his apologises, and Gemma had just grinned and said: "Shut up, Harry," and attacked his curls.

She'd only styled them a little, so the fringe was across his face, but she'd said he could push it back if he wants.

"Does it look okay?" Harry asks nervously, petting his curls. He felt different looking in the mirror, like someone else was looking out.

Someone who deserves Louis Tomlinson, but that's neither here nor there.

"Harry," Niall says seriously, "If I didn't want to have sex with a certain tattooed bad boy, I would definitely have sex with you."

"You say such sweet things," Harry says, and they both start giggling.

Niall keeps slapping Harry's bum at random intervals, all the way to school.

 

 

He hasn't got it for another hour, but Harry's excited about going to History, and it's not because the Weimar Government really gets his attention.

He's excited about seeing Louis, knowing Louis will be expecting sweater vests and chunky glasses. He takes a deep breath, trying to fight the smile on his face.

It's just as he's heading to the library - he has a free period, so he's going to do some revision - when he sees Nick.

The thing is, Harry's pretty sure Nick has Media now, because Niall has Music, and they're in the same lesson block.

Nick isn't in Media, which means he's been kicked out, or he's skiving, and quite frankly it's bad for Harry either way.

Harry curses when he realises they're in the back building, the one near Drama which hardly anyone uses. He thinks about running for it, but Nick has already spotted him.

Nick's face lights up when he sees, and Harry's stomach twists unhappily, palms beginning to sweat.

"Well, if it isn't  _Marcel,"_ he drawls, and Harry flinches. Nick gives him a one over, and sneers. "Only you've dropped the freak clothes? Who you trying to impress, Styles?"

Harry tries to walk away, but it's like his muscles aren't working, he's suddenly Marcel again, geeky and ugly and bullied.

Nick's eyes suddenly gleam in understanding, and Harry feels sick.

"It's Tomlinson, isn't it?" Nick breathes, voice thick with vindication, "You're trying to impress Tomlinson, aren't you, you fucking fag?"

"Shut up," Harry snaps, and instantly regrets it, because Nick steps forward, stance threatening.

"Everyone saw you grind against him at Jake's," Nick hisses, close enough Harry can smell the cigarettes on his breath, "You're so fucking desperate."

Nick leans in closer, and delivers his killing blow. "You really think Louis Tomlinson would like  _you?"_

Harry recoils, because that's every fear he's ever had, that's he's not good enough, that he'll never be good enough.

"You're a freak, Styles," Nick spits, and Harry's trembling now, the backs of his legs threatening to give out.

"Tomlinson grinded on you as a dare, or a bet, or because it'd be funny to see the geek getting wound up. You're a piece of crap, Marcel, you're a freak and no one is ever going to want you. Least of all Louis -"

It's all too much, and Harry lets out this choking noise, and  _runs._

His eyes are burning, and tears are spilling out, sticky and wet against his cheeks. Harry can't breathe, his chest feels tight, like someone's squeezing it, and he runs blindly.

He can hear Nick's words again and again, playing over and over in his mind, and a sob is ripped from his throat. He stumbles into a room, not even noticing where he is, just needing to get  _away._

"Harry?"

Harry blinks, looking up to see Zayn. He's in the common room, he can see the white walls and brown chairs, the posters on the walls advertising University Days, and Practising Safe Sex, and the Halloween Party in a couple of weeks.

Zayn looks concerned, big brown eyes wide, and he tugs Harry to a seat gently. Harry follows him, scrubbing his eyes with one hand. Thankfully, there's no one else in the common room.

"Harry? Harry, what's going on? Are you hurt?" Zayn asks, tone worried.

Harry breathes, and it sounds horrible, scratchy and ragged, like his lungs don't know how to work. He rubs at his eyes, feeling like an idiot.

"Harry," Zayn says again, and ever so gently pushes Harry's curls back, away from his face, "Harry, what happened?"

Harry coughs, and finds his voice. "Nick Grimshaw," he says finally, and hates how weak he sounds, "He just - just said some stuff."

He wipes his nose with one hand, which is gross, and makes Harry feel like even more of a idiot.

Zayn purses his lips, eyes darkening, and Harry can see why people think he's a bad boy. He pulls out his phone, starts a text, then swears and puts it back in his pocket.

"I'm going to get Niall and Louis, okay?" he says, voice tight.

Harry flinches, shaking his head. "No! They're in Music, you can't -"

"Don't worry," Zayn says, giving Harry a wry smile, "They've got Mr Cardle. He's never there, seriously, all they do is doss around. I mean, Louis will do the homework, and then he'll play Angry Birds for the rest of the lesson."

"Oh," Harry says, pushing back his fringe. It's probably ruined now, but he can't bring himself to care, "You'd do that?"

He looks up at Zayn, knowing he must look a mess, eyes red, hair shoved back, skin pale from crying.

"Yeah," Zayn says softly, pushing back the brown chair he was sitting on, "Course I would. I'll be back in a second, okay?"

"Okay," Harry says weakly, and Zayn squeezes his shoulder before he storms out.

Harry tries to make himself more presentable, but gives up and just sits there, miserable. It  _hurt,_  what Nick had said, had struck Harry right to the bone.

Sometimes, when he's with Niall, or Liam laughs at his joke, or when Louis' cuddled up to him, Harry feels as if anything Nick said would be utterly meaningless. But when he's alone, it's as if he can't do it, just curls in on himself and hopes he goes away.

Harry would like to be strong, but only if it's all the time.

 

 

When Louis pushes open the door to see Harry, tear stained and pale, something in him flips.

He feels  _furious,_ pure rage throbbing through him, chest twisting when he sees Harry's damp eyes. He has take a breath, then another, his fists clenched so tight his nails pierce the skin.

"Harry!" Niall shouts, and runs to him, wrapping his arms around him. Harry hugs him back, burrowing his curly hair into Niall's shoulder.

"What the  _fuck,"_ Louis bites out, "Is going on?"

Harry breaks away from Niall, blinking when he glances at Louis, green eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears.

"Louis," he says, voice surprised and thick with tears, "I -" 

He deflates a little, and Niall wraps an arm around him. Zayn nudges him.

"He said Grimshaw said a few things to him," he murmurs, eyes dark and cautious, watching Louis as if he's dangerous.

Good. Louis is dangerous.

"I," Louis grits out, "Am going to kill him."

Harry's head snaps up. He gazes at Louis like - Louis doesn't even know what a look like that means, only it's probably going to be etched into his mind forever.

"Louis," he breathes, and Louis can see Zayn and Niall exchange a look from the corner of his eye.

"What did he say to you?" Louis demands, fists still clenched, legs slightly.

Harry looks away, closing his eyes for a second.

"He called me a fag," Harry says, tone void of any inflection, "And that you only hung out with me for a bet. Or a dare. Because I was such a freak."

"I'm going to kill him," Louis growls, and gets up, fully intent on smashing Nick's face in.

"Louis!" Zayn says sharply, grabbing Louis' wrist. He tightens his hand around it, looking Louis straight in the eye.

"He won't actually do it, will he?" Niall mumbles, and Zayn snorts.

"Yes, he will," he says grimly, and lets go of Louis' wrist.

Louis breathes in, calming himself, trying to push down the urge to hurt Nick, to punish for doing this, doing it to _Harry,_ of all people.

Louis may be angry, but he's not stupid. He knows violence won't solve anything, might even make it worse, so he unclenches his muscles.

Turning, he makes his way over to Harry. Cautiously, he kneels in front of him, so he's almost at eye level, because Harry's on a chair.

Harry pushes back his hair, and Louis notes, for the first time, that he's got it curly today. He's not wearing his usual clothes either, and for some reason that tugs at Louis' gut.

"Listen," he says, voice like steel, "I don't like you for a dare, or a bet, or whatever the fuck else Nick said. I like you because you're funny and you're nice, and you look beyond what people look like into who they fucking are, okay?"

Harry's eyes are wide, and Louis can see something blossoming in them, hope mixed with shock, and an aching tenderness that makes Louis weak.

Louis clears his throat. "So, don't you dare believe a fucking word he said, got it?"

Harry nods once, and Louis stays there for a moment, just him and Harry looking back at each other, until Louis coughs and stands up.

"C'mon," he says, and holds out one hand to Harry.

Niall, who's been unusually quiet, pipes up at this. "Where are we going?" he asks, "I thought we'd decided against violence, and four against one might get us in more trouble."

Louis lets out a strangled laugh. "No, Nialler, that's not what we're doing."

He pauses, looks around at them. At Niall, who's looking fiercely protective, and Zayn, who'll back Louis to a hilt, whatever it is.

At Harry, who's breathtakingly beautiful, even with red eyes and tear stained cheeks, and curls standing up everywhere.

"Nick's failing Media," Louis says, tone too measured, just the right side of vicious, "He's about an inch away from being kicked out. If we go to the Head Of Sixth Form with complaints of -"

He pauses, looks at Harry, " -  _continued_ bullying, and homophobic language, well. I don't think they'll be too happy."

He spreads his hands. "Even if they don't kick him out, I'll make sure everyone knows what a piece of crap that guy is."

He will as well, would do it as easy as breathing. It's up to Harry, though. Louis knows it won't be easy, because confronting bullies never is.

Taking a deep breath, he turns to Harry and holds out one hand.

Harry looks at him, those green eyes dark, then takes his hand. Harry's palm is large, and their fingers entwine perfectly. Louis has a sudden flashback of rain and running, and tightens his grip.

He doesn't let go. 


	9. Imitation (is the highest form of flattery)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to niallernat, who wanted an update but I fell asleep :)

Louis doesn't let go of his hand.

He doesn't let go when they go down the hall to Mr Cowell's office, he doesn't let go when Mr Cowell sits them down for a little chat, and when they're told to sit in the reception, and they pass Nick, who's obviously going  _in_ to Mr Cowell's office, Louis just holds on tighter.

Harry is definitely not complaining.

They're sitting outside the office, as if they're naughty Year 6s, not sixth formers. Mr Cowell had listened very carefully as Harry had explained what had happened, and had hinted this wasn't the first time Nick had got in trouble.

They're sitting in those really uncomfortable chairs, waiting for Mr Cowell. Liam had turned up at some point, had heard what had happened, and come by to see if Harry was okay.

He'd brought tissues.

Everyone had stared at him when he'd handed them to Harry, and Liam had just fidgeted a bit.

"I just thought Harry should know it's okay to cry about it," he had said seriously, eyes big and sincere.

"Thanks, Liam," Harry had replied, and smiled, because Liam really is a sweetheart.

Louis had said something very nasty about Liam's mother and the US Navy, and Niall had asked if Liam had any food.

Currently, Niall is listening to his iPod, Zayn sharing his earphones. Harry can see the wire hanging between them, their heads slightly bent towards each other, one dark, one light.

Louis' tapping his feet impatiently, and Harry understands it. He feels slightly sick himself, the weird tingling feeling you get, like when you stand at the edge of a large drop.

(He's still holding Harry's hand, and Liam is glancing between them, but not saying anything, because Liam's good like that.)

The door opens, and everyone's head snaps up. Harry thinks they look like meerkats when they see a bird of prey, but he may just be a bit hysterical.

Nick saunters out, face twisted in anger, and what looks like humiliation. He glances their way, then freezes, eyes narrowing as he takes them all in.

Abruptly, Louis stands up, his chair screeching loudly as it's pushed back. There's a beat of stillness, then Louis' barelling forward.

He slams Nick against the wall, arm pressed against his throat. His whole stance is aggressive, and Nick looks paralyzed, terrified.

Zayn starts up, as does Liam, but Louis doesn't do anything. He's saying something under his breath to Nick, tone deadly, but Harry can't make out the words.

Louis steps back, and Nick scuttles away. He looks about an inch away from crying.

Harry can't breathe, can't believe Louis just did that. He exchanges a look with Niall. Niall raises his eyebrows, as shocked as he is.

Zayn curls a hand around Louis' arm, saying something lowly. Louis listens, and nods once before walking back to his chair.

Louis sits back down, flinging his legs out in front of him, lounging in his chair. He doesn't look at Harry. Their hands had been disconnected when Louis had stood, and Harry tells himself it's silly to miss the contact.

He wishes he was brave enough just to reach out and take Louis' hand, because he's nervous now. He's never been in trouble, ever. He's always handed his homework in on time, always worn the correct uniform. He's always been a model student.

It's only now he realises how much Nick had an effect on him, enough to make him cry as it were. It's the reasons for the sweaters, and the hair, and hiding behind his books.

Harry's scared, but he's more scared Mr Cowell won't believe him, that'll he'll get called a liar, and he's so engrossed in that terrifying outcome, that his hand grasps Louis' all on his own.

Great. Now he's apparently having involuntary hand spasms.

Louis looks vaguely surprised, eyebrows raising, but it's then Mr Cowell walks out of his office.

"Ah, Mr Payne," he says, catching sight of Liam, "Are you joining us?"

Liam turns red, and begins to stutter an apology, but Mr Cowell waves it away.

"You may as well join us, it seems you lot are inseparable anyway," he says, casting an eye over them all.

They all trape into his office, taking a seat in front of Mr Cowell's huge desk. Harry sits on the edge of his chair, wishing he'd taken up Liam's offer of tissues. Maybe then he'd look less like a twelve year old girl that's seen  _Titanic_ for the first time.

"Right," Mr Cowell says, peering at them over his over his desk, "I'm afraid to tell you Mr Grimshaw will no longer be continuing at sixth form."

"YES!" Niall cheers, and Zayn elbows him in the ribs.

"Oh," Niall says, slightly shame faced, "Sorry, I just hated that twat -"

"Don't swear!" Harry hisses, and wraps a hand around Niall's mouth, "You can't - did you just lick me?"

"You can lick me," Zayn says casually.

Louis snorts. "Keep it in your pants, Malik."

"If you're quite finished," Mr Cowell says, voice like steel, and everyone jumps. Harry is pretty sure Liam is dying of embarrassment in the corner.

"I'm very pleased you came to me, Harry," Cowell continues, and Harry flushes slightly, "And I assure the matter has been delt with. You don't need worry anymore, though my door is always open."

"Thanks," Harry mumbles, because he can't really put into words how happy he is, but then Louis squeezes his hand, and Niall nudges him, and words don't seem to matter.

Cowell sits back in his chair, hands folded together, eyes narrowed.

"I'm pleased you boys worked together here," he says slowly, and Harry's surprised to see his eyes soften.

"It's important you all support each other, and it's very satisfying to see five boys who - Horan, are you eating?"

"Er, no," Niall says, only it's not very convincing because it comes out muffled, due to the half masticated Galaxy bar in his mouth.

Cowell sighs. "Get out of my office."

"Yes, Sir," Liam agrees, and practically pulls them all from the room.

Once they're outside, Harry looks at Niall. "Niall, really?"

Niall shrugs, completely unrepentant. "You only live once!" he grins, and ruffles Harry's hair.

"I'm glad that's sorted," Louis says firmly, face still grim, "I hope Cowell fucking ripped into him."

"Can't say I disagree with you, mate," Niall grins, slapping Louis on the back, "Ha, and now Mark can be the back up goalie!"

They begin to walk down the corridor, not really going anywhere, just ambling, high on their victory. Harry still can't believe it, can't believe he's never going to have to be scared of Nick Grimshaw again.

"Aw, Hazza's still out of it," Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry's cheek, "I thought you were going to kiss Cowell!"

" _You_ want to kiss Cowell," Harry says, making a face at Niall.

"Nooo," Niall says, shaking his head, "I want to kiss _Zayn_."

There's a pause. Everyone turns to stare at Niall. Zayn is staring at Niall with huge eyes, and this hopeful expression Harry's never seen on his face before.

"You want to kiss me?" Zayn asks, voice cracking slightly, and suddenly Harry can see exactly how this is going to pan out. Apparently Louis can to, because he begins to protest loudly.

"Oh, no, no, you are not having your romantic comedy moment now -"

Niall completely ignores him. "Well, yeah, ever since you gave me that ride on your motorbike."

"No, no, no, now they're admitting they've "always felt the same" or some crap," Louis groans, "Zayn, don't you dare -"

"And you didn't  _say_ anything?" Zayn moans, and Louis throws his hands up in the air.

"No, no, don't start the "I never knew you felt them same" -"

"I didn't think you were gay," Niall shrugs, fluffing up his blond hair.

"That's it," Louis says, crossing his arms, "Don't you dare -"

Zayn practically throws himself at Niall.

" - kiss," Louis finishes flatly, "You two are so adorable I can actually feel my teeth rotting."

Zayn has his hands buried in Niall's hair, and his lips mashed to Niall's, but he still manages to flip Louis off.

 

 

The next day, Harry wears jeans and a t-shirt to school. He pulls on a green beanie, partly because it's cold, and partly because he's still a little self conscious about his hair.

His mum smiles at him as he comes down the stairs. The school had rung her yesterday, and when Harry had got home she'd hugged him for a very long time, and said she was very proud of him.

(She'd also rang up the school, and ripped them a new one, because Harry's mum is cool like that.)

"You look nice today, Harry," she says, sipping her cup of coffee, "Trying to impress a girl?"

Gemma, who's eating peanut butter toast at the table, snorts. "More like a boy."

Harry squirms. "Gemma! Shut up!"

His mum laughs, showing the little lines she has around her eyes, "Harry! Tell me more!"

"Well, he's got a fantastic arse -" Gemma begins, and Harry cuts her off with a yelp.

"Right, that's it, I'm off to school, you are all  _crazy,"_ Harry moans, throwing his lunch box into his bag, "I'm pretty sure you're the reason I'm into boys anyway, Gemma."

"Bit incestuous, little brother," Gemma smirks, and laughs when Harry slams the door behind him.

 

 

 "Did anyone else feel a bit like a superhero, yesterday?"

Louis doesn't even bother looking at Zayn, just keeps swinging his chair around and around.

"I did," Niall says.

"Well, you would, wouldn't you, considering Zayn and you are now doing the horizontal mambo," Louis snarks.

Niall, who has his head in Zayn's lap as Zayn cards through his blond hair, flips him off.

"Rude," Louis says, without heat, and keeps swinging round.

They're in Music, and true to form, Mr Cardle is off buying hats or something, meaning Louis and Niall can do whatever they want. Harry, Zayn and Liam all have frees, meaning they can sneak up here and help Louis break all the keyboard keys.

He probably should be vaguely worried about passing his Music A Level, Louis contemplates as he's whizzing round, but he's an optimist, he's sure it will all turn out.

"Stop spinning," Harry gripes, from where he's sitting on the desk, and sticks his foot out so Louis has to stop.

Louis manages just not to fall out of the chair, and then makes a face at Harry, sticking his tounge out just because he can. Harry, to his delight, does one right back.

Liam hears them laughing, and turns to grin at them. There's something soft in his eyes, but Louis doesn't dwell on it, because he knows the Payner is too perceptive for his own good.

"We were pretty heroic," Louis concedes, "We just needed our own theme song."

Harry's different today, and Louis likes it, likes it too much, likes the way he doesn't seem scared to work down corridors on his own. He smiles more, though that isn't good, because Louis is feeling more and more like a teenage girl with a crush.

If he starts singing Taylor Swift songs, it's up to Zayn to shoot him.

"I'll write us one," Niall mumbles, "On my guitar, and Harry can sing."

Louis whips round to look at Harry. "You can sing?"

"No," Harry denies immediately, face turning red, "No, I can't. Shut up, Niall."

"Oh my God, you  _can!"_ Louis says gleefully, grinning as Harry turns even redder, "That's it, Styles, I'm dragging you to a karaoke bar, first chance I get."

"No, no, no," Harry says, though he's trying not to laugh, "No. No karaoke."

"Dragging you," Louis sings, and mimes holding an invisible mike.

"You're such an idiot," Harry mumbles, but he's looking up at Louis through his eyelashes as he says it, so he doesn't mean it.

"I'll do a duet with you," Louis offers, "Aqua's Barbie Girl, anybody?"

Niall lifts his head from Zayn's lap and gives him a funny look. "How do you even know who that's by?"

"He knows  _everything,"_ Liam says, in a spooky Twilight Zone voice, and Louis flicks his head.

"Apart from how to wear socks with his shoes," Harry adds thoughtfully, and Zayn cracks up.

Louis turns to glare at him, narrowing his eyes. "Says you, Styles. You're wearing a freaking beanie."

Harry beams at him, fluttering his eyelashes, which does things to Louis' stomach.

"Imitation is the greatest form of flattery," he snarks.

"Wait," Zayn says suddenly, glancing between them, "When did you see Louis in a beanie?"

Louis glares at Zayn, making abort abort movements with his hands.

Zayn ignores him. Twat.

"The other day," Harry says, frowning adorably, "When he came round mine to watch a movie."

"Louis never lets anyone see him in a beanie," Zayn says slowly, a smirk growing on his face, "He says it makes him look like a homeless New Yorker who pushes trolleys with cans in."

"He has said that," Liam muses, and Louis resists the urge to kick him.

"It's just a beanie," Louis snaps, trying to kill Zayn with his eyes, "A beanie doesn't mean anything!"

Harry's still looking at him, this amused little smile on his lips, and Louis gets distracted for a moment, struck by how gorgeous Harry looks, all soft and gentle and lovely.

"Right," Zayn drawls, "Of course it doesn't mean anything."

He pauses. "Or it means everything."

Louis pulls out the big guns. He doesn't want to do this to Zayn, but he's left him with no choice.

Well, he's left him with a curious Harry Styles, which is the same thing really.

"Zayn," he says, tone deadly, "You remember when we were five, and we dressed up for Halloween."

He pauses. "Remember  _Veronica?"_

Zayn looks at him for a second, and then says, in an almost admiring tone, "Playing dirty, Tommo."

Louis grins. "One word. Photos."

Zayn rolls his eyes, then turns to Harry. "I've seen Louis in a beanie," he says in a bored voice, "All the time, everyday. I can't remember a day when that I did not see one adorned on his head."

He raises an eyebrow at Louis. "Better?"

"Perfect," Louis grins, and Niall pushes up from Zayn's lap, face crumpled in confusion.

"Who's Veronica?"

"No one," Zayn says, and kisses him quiet.

At least it's an efficient use of his mouth. 


	10. Sharing Is Caring

_From: Nialler_

_May have distracted Zayn into abandoning Louis. With my tongue._

Harry snorts when he gets the message; Zayn and Niall have already been reprimanded for "inappropriate behaviour in a public setting" by three separate teachers. He's really not surprised their hormones have got the better of them - again.

_To: Nialler_

_Wasn't Zayn supposed to give Louis a ride home? He was doing extra footie practice after school..._

_From: Nialler_

_Well, yes but then I **distracted** him_

_To: Nialler_

_Ohhh. So, um what do you want me to do about it?_

_From: Nialler_

_Zayn won't rim me unless Louis has someone to walk home with._

Harry barely manages not to throw the phone at the wall.

_To: Nialler_

_NIALL THAT IS DISGUSTING CAN YOU PLEASE TRY AND HAVE SOME DECORUM YOU ABSOLUTE ARSE I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT_

_To: Nialler_

_I'll go get Louis. DO NOT TEXT ME ANYMORE DETAILS ABOUT YOUR SEX LIFE._

_From: Nialler_

_Thanks babe you're the best, okay got to go xxxxxjfkx_

Harry doesn't mind walking up to school. It's almost five, and it's October, so the air is biting, nipping at his exposed skin. The sky has a pinkish hue, the horizon streaked with gold that will soon change to inky blue, then finally to black.

Harry trots around to the school fields, taking the back entrance. There's the mossy smell of leaves, gold and brown and red, scattered on the floor like splashes of paint.

He sees Louis as he's making his way over to the football field. His silhouette stretches, a lone figure in the darkening evening. 

Then Louis moves, bringing back his foot and slamming it into the ball. It's as if a statue has come alive, sudden stillness brimming into unbound energy, Louis' moves perfect, trajectories and pure strength sending the ball straight into the back of the net.

The moment stills, and Louis pauses, the image of him, sun burnished hair and toned muscles, forever burnt into Harry's memory.

Louis turns and sees him, and the moment passes, snapping like a branch underfoot.

"Hazza," he drawls, and the setting sun tints his skin with gold. He walks over slowly, stopping a few paces away.

"Zayn drop me for his Irish lover?" he asks, and Harry grins.

"Zayn's going to rim him."

Louis chokes on air, which is a pretty impressive feat. When he's stopped coughing, he glares at Harry, and if looks could kill, Harry would hung, drawn, quartered and roasted on a spit by now.

"Why the fuck," Louis spits, face pulled into a grimace, "Would you tell me that?"

Harry shrugs. "I had to be told via text message, and I almost threw my phone at the wall. Like I'm going to be the only one to suffer with that mental image."

Louis shakes his head, lips curving into a smile that makes Harry's stomach flip. "Cruel, Styles, very cruel."

"Sharing is caring," Harry quips, running a hand through his curly hair, "You practising for Saturday?"

"Yeah," Louis says, face suddenly pensive, "Our first match of the season. Need to do well."

He throws a glance at Harry, the worry gone as soon as it had come. "You're going to the match though, right?"

"You asking me to wear your jacket?" Harry smirks, putting on a fake American accent.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Like you'd wear it."

"Of course I would," Harry says, without even thinking, and  _shit._

It'd be alright if he'd said in a joking tone, just another snarky come back. But he hadn't, he'd said it all soft and wistful, because of course he'd wear Louis' jacket, he'd have any part of Louis he can get.

He definitely hadn't meant to put all of that into four syllables, but now the words are out, and he can't snatch them back, can't erase all that longing.

Louis is looking at him, eyes wide, foot hovering in the air from where he was kicking the grass, action long forgotten. The air between them is heavy, tension thick as Harry fidgets, unsure what to do, what to say.

"Harry -" Louis begins, and Harry panics.

He reaches forward, hands curling in Louis' football shirt and kisses him.

Louis' lips are soft, and the fabric under his hands is harsh, and the angle is all wrong, and Harry pulls back without really processing what he's just done.

He can feels his cheeks flushing, and he closes his eyes, waiting for the punch, certain Louis' going to hit him, because, oh god,  _he just kissed Louis Tomlinson._

He's not going to run, not because he's a coward, but because he kissed Louis, and it's up to Louis to react to that.

He waits for the impact, cool air brushing his cheeks, eyes firmly screwed shut, tight enough he can see the gold lights of the dying sunlight behind them.

"Harry," Louis' voice says finally, and Harry flinches, "What are you doing?"

"You can hit me if you want."

There's silence, then Harry can smell vanilla, so Louis' moved closer.

"I should," Louis says evenly, and Harry feels sick, "Because that was a shit first kiss."

And then soft hands are cupping his face, a callussed thumb running over his cheekbone, and Louis is kissing him.

Louis kisses him reverently, carefully, like Harry will break if he pushes too far. His lips are soft, and he tilts his head, licking into Harry's mouth, tasting of mint gum and something indescribably _Louis_. He bites down gently on Harry's bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth, and Harry moans.

Louis' hands are curled in his hair, warm, toned body pressed against Harry's, Harry's arms curled around Louis' back. Louis presses closer to him, kiss turning desperate as their mouths slide together, Harry feeling shivers spread through him.

They both break apart, and Harry blinks, breathing ragged. Louis' lips are red, and slightly wet, which causes something to heat in his stomach. His blue eyes are large, and he's blinking rapidly.

Harry fidgets, uncertainty flooding through him, and he steps back. Louis' eyes widen, and he grabs Harry's hoodie, causing them to swing closer to each other.

Harry's close enough to see Louis' golden eyelashes, their foreheads almost touching. Louis bites his cheek, eyes lowering, a faint blush spreading across his skin.

"Don't go," he whispers, and the words are blazing bright in this small corner of the world, iridescent in the falling shadows.

 

 

Harry holds his hand as they walk to the changing rooms. It's weird, because during the Nick Incident, Louis was the one holding Harry's hand. During the Rain Incident, Louis was the one who grabbed Harry. During the Dance/Grind Incident, it was Louis reaching out to Harry.

Louis wonders how long he's been reaching out for Harry.

When Harry joins their hands, long fingers curling around his own, he wonders how long Harry's been reaching out for him.

They're not saying anything, but Harry keeps shooting Louis these little looks, like he can't believe this is happening, and Louis would tell him to quit it, but he's doing the exact same thing, so.

He ducks into the changing rooms, Harry following behind him. He can see his bag with all his clothes hanging on the peg, but he hesitates.

"Um," he says, and Harry lets out a bark of laughter, all the tension fading.

Louis smiles, old confidence coming back. "So, Styles, how long have you wanted to do that?"

Harry ducks his head, eyes averted, and Louis squeezes his hand, the action more instinct than anything else.

"A long time, I think, I just," he pauses, wrinkling his nose, "Just, didn't, pin it down until - until now."

He cocks his head to one side. "Probably since the hair thing, really."

Louis smirks, rubbing a thumb over Harry's knuckles. "Well," he drawls, "You slowly seduced me with those curls."

"Really?" Harry says, his voice very low, and Louis suddenly feels very hot.

Harry gently pushes him back, huge hands warm on Louis' hips. He presses Louis against the changing room wall, and Louis can feel himself growing hard, Harry's dominant side making heat curl in his stomach.

Harry kisses him, lips soft and warm, licking into his mouth like he wants to taste Louis, wants to touch every part of him. His hands press lightly down on his hips, and Louis kisses back, Harry tasting sweet.

He whimpers as Harry kisses his neck, tilting his head back for more access. All he can think is _that's going to be a massive hickey,_  because Harry's biting down softly on the skin by his collarbone, mouthing at the same spot until Louis' squirming in pleasure.

Harry pulls back, and his pupils are  _blown, **fuck,**_ and he's panting. Louis' still trying to remember how to breathe, and Harry makes a small noise of displeasure.

"Sorry," he babbles, staring at what Louis' certain is a bruise, "I got carried away -"

Louis could tell Harry he  _wants_ him to get carried away, but that would take too long, so instead he reaches out and palms Harry's jeans.

Harry goes very still, and whimpers. "Louis, you don't -"

"Shush," Louis says, and tugs Harry closer, begins to undo Harry's jeans.

He reaches below his boxers, taking Harry in his hand, hot and slick already with pre-cum.

" _Louis,"_ Harry breathes, voice absolutely wrecked, "Louis -"

Louis runs his hand up the length, running a thumb over the senstitive head. Harry's squirming, and Louis begins to move his hand up and down, slow, teasing strokes.

Harry's beautiful like this, flushed, curls hanging over his forehead, and Louis feels a strange glow, that _he's_ doing this, that Harry wants him to do it.

"Louis," Harry chokes out, "Louis, I'm going to -"

Louis doesn't stop, speeds up his actions, tightening his grip around the shaft, movements getting faster, Harry writhing now.

"I've got you," he says, because it feels right, and trails his fingers on the sensitive underneath. Harry groans, and comes, wet liquid spilling out onto Louis' hand.

Harry's breathing heavily, eyelashes ridiculously long on his cheeks. Louis pulls back, and wipes his hands on his footie shorts. It's a bit gross, but he's got a change of clothes, and anyway, it's worth it to see the way Harry looks at him, full of wide eyed wonder.

Louis slips out to the bathroom in the changing rooms, washing his hands quickly, and grabbing some tissues. He hands them to Harry, who blushes and cleans himself up as much as he can.

"Do you -" Harry stutters, gesturing awkwardly, "Do you need -"

Louis shakes his head, and beckons Harry with one finger, "Come here."

Harry steps forward, nervous, and Louis fists his hands in his shirt.

He rests his head on Harry's chest, overwhelmed by how much he cares for this boy, this boy with green eyes and curly hair, who cares about who people are, and who gave Louis a chance, and who backs Niall without hesitation.

"I can't believe we did that in the changing rooms," Harry mumbles, after a second, and Louis laughs.

He can't quite believe it either.

 

 

_From: DJ Malik:_

_Hey, I called you.You okay? Did Harry walk you home?_

_To: DJ Malik_

_Yeah - yeah. We walked. Walked all the way. To my house. You know, walking._

_From: DJ Malik_

_You gave him a hand job didn't you._

_To: DJ Malik_

_You wanna talk about rimming Niall?_

_From: DJ Malik_

_So, football match on Saturday. I better be rested for it, so I'm off to bed. Night!_

_To: DJ Malik_

_Thought not._

 


	11. Pain Over Pain Au Chocolates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter dedicated to CaptainJadirahAaliyahSONEDirectioner because they said my smut wasn't terrible :)
> 
> (Even though it is)

The next morning, Harry has a complete mental break down, and calls Niall at 5AM, begging him to come over.

Niall comes over, because he's a good friend.

Harry also has to buy twelve croissants, a packet of pain au chocolates, and some Crunchy Nut Clusters, but that's completely unrelated.

Right.

Gemma comes down after he's called Niall, in her fluffy Primark dressing gown and her SpongeBob pyjamas.

"What are you doing?" she yawns, rubbing her eyes with one fluffy, pink sleeve.

"My life has turned into  _Love, Actually,"_  Harry replies flatly.

"Really?" Gemma mumbles.

"No," Harry wails, slumping onto the table, "Because  _Love, Actually_ has a happy ending, and that's yet to be confirmed for my future!"

"Well, what would Macbeth do?" Gemma asks, then grabs a croissant and goes back upstairs.

Harry stares after her for a bit, then gives up on life entirely.

After they'd walked home yesterday, Harry had managed to repress all his feelings about the Changing Rooms Incident. This was evidently a crap idea, because when he'd woken up, he'd freaked out.

What did Louis mean by that hand job? Was it like a friends with benefits scenario, or did he think Harry was like his Scarlett Woman, and was it all just a joke?

He remembers quiet, beautiful moments between them, Louis grabbing his jumper, and the hand job was _good,_ but what does it mean?

Is Louis embarrassed? Will he be embarrassed? Will he completely blank Harry at school, pretend it never happened?

The only thing that would make Harry more pathetic right now, is a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. 

When Niall turns up, he can barely walk straight. He stumbles in like a zombie, collapses onto one of the chair and thunks his head on the table.

Thankfully, the allure of food is too strong, and after demolishing three croissants, Niall is much more receptive.

"Hazza," he yawns, blue braces flashing, "I love you, I really do, but I'm finding it hard to appreciate your loveliness at five in the fucking morning."

He takes a huge gulp of coffee, and Harry steels himself for confession.

"Louis gave me a hand job."

Niall spits his coffee everywhere.

"Yeah, exactly," Harry says darkly, and angrily bites a pain au chocolate.

Niall wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and runs a hand through his blond hair. "When was this? When did this happen?"

Harry fidgets, smoothing down his pyjama top. "Er, yesterday. After school."

"Harry," Niall says seriously, "Is this because of the rimming thing? Because relationships are not a competition."

Harry blinks at him. "No, why would you...?"

Niall nods wisely. "You cried."

Harry stares at Niall. "Why would I cry?"

"Oh," Niall pauses, " _Louis_ cried."

"No!" Harry snaps, thoroughly confused, "No one cried!"

Niall cocks his head to one side. "You couldn't, ahem, get it up?"

Harry throws his hands in the air. "No, Niall! This is about Louis possibly pretending I don't exist, because he was having some kind of homosexual crisis! What if he treats me like a leper?"

Niall puts down his coffee mug, and looks Harry straight in the eye.

"Harry," he says, tone grave, "You have to stop doing this, okay? You are smart and funny and kind. You make me laugh, and look after me, and you're pretty hot, whatever style you choose."

Niall begins to eat the Kellogs out of the packet, too lazy to get a bowl. "You're good enough for Louis Tomlinson, okay, and if I'm not  _blind_ , then he's pretty taken with you too."

He swallows, then gestures with his spoon. "So, yeah. Get with the take."

Harry takes a bite of a croissant, mulling it over in his mind. "You really think so?" he says finally, voice hesitant.

"Well, I didn't think Zayn would like me, did I?" Niall reasons, "And look where that turned up." He smirks. "Well, something was definitely up -"

"La, la, la, I can't hear you," Harry sings, hands clamped over his ears, and Niall bursts out laughing.

Niall's still laughing, but his eyes have gone all soft and gooey, so he's thinking about Zayn. Harry can't help but smile.

"You really like him, don't you?" he says softly, and Niall sends him a blinding grin.

"Yeah, I do. And you really like Louis."

Harry thinks about how he spent all night thinking of Louis' eyes, and his laugh, and his snarky come backs, and how he plays football, and the fact he hasn't really been able to think of anything but Louis.

He nods, once, and Niall smiles.

"So, you you like Louis, and Louis likes you, and I like you, and Zayn likes me, and Zayn likes Louis." He gives Harry a lop sided grin. "All getting a bit incestuous, isn't it?"

"That's not how incest works..."

"It does in Macbeth."

 Harry throws a croissant at him.

 

 

Zayn texts Niall saying he and Louis are in the canteen. He also says he's buying Niall a hot chocolate, which means Harry has to listen to Niall coo over Zayn's adorableness all the way to school.

Niall scampers over to Zayn as they enter the canteen, huge smile breaking out on his face. Zayn kisses him in greeting, and Niall settles next to him.

Harry can't help feel a pang of jealousy, watching as Niall bends his head to Zayn's, whispering something in his ear that makes Zayn smile.

Harry's heart does a little flip flop when he sees Louis. He's rolling his eyes at Zayn and Niall, then his blue gaze snaps up to meet Harry's.

He stands up, stretching, and Harry's eyes are drawn to the flex of his hips. His hair is all fluffy brown and quiffed, and Harry feels a surge of affection.

Louis saunters over, and Harry tries to wipe his hands on his jeans as surreptitiously as possible.

"Styles," Louis smirks, stopping close to him, grey t-shirt tight across his muscles.

"Tomlinson," Harry replies nervously, looking down at his feet.

"Hey," Louis says, and reaches out to grab Harry's forearm. Harry looks up, suddenly hopeful, taking in Louis' concerned expression.

"So, Niall might have texted Zayn, who texted me about a certain five o'clock booty call..."

Harry groans, hiding his face in his hands, embarrassment making his cheeks flush. Louis laughs, fingers still curled around Harry's bicep, warm and comforting.

"I'm offended, Styles," Louis fake-pouts, eyebrows raised in mock indignation, "I'm no floozy, I don't hand job and dash."

He pauses, face suddenly shutting down. "Unless you want to," he says, voice deliberately casual, though Harry can hear the tremor, "Then, we can just-"

"I don't. Want just that," Harry blurts, and Louis' eyes snap to his, hope blooming on his face in a way that tugs at Harry's heart.

And Harry can swear the birds are singing and the lambs are jumping and Niall has has finally read Macbeth, because this may actually, possibly,  _maybe_ end with  _Louis Tomlinson_ as _Harry Style's boyfriend._

He tries not to wriggle with happiness, but he's not sure how successful it is.

"So, we're," Harry begins, not really sure how to phase it, not sure if he's being presumptuous, "We're -"

"Boyfriends," Louis finishes, and then shrugs when Harry blinks, "What? You're not exactly stellar at story telling, I'd be applying for a pension by the time we have our first date."

"I'd like to be boyfriends," Harry says softly, a warm flush spreading through him.

Louis smiles at him, and it's soft and sweet, and Harry's never seen him smile like that before, thinks maybe it's a smile just for Harry. Harry smiles back, can't help it, the background noise fading away as their gazes lock.

"But I'm topping," Louis suddenly breaks in, and Harry chokes on his own spit, his mind instantly throwing up some  _very_ inappropriate images.

"Oh my God, you're such a loser," Louis says, rolling his eyes as Harry tries to remember how to breathe.

He grabs Harry's hand, slim fingers entwining with his own, so casually as if he doesn't care everyone is watching.

(Everyone is watching, actually, but their gazes aren't cruel. There's a few shocked glances, but Harry can see at least three variations on: "Ohmygosh, that is so CUTE!")

Louis tugs him into a seat next to him, pressing against Harry's side, grip tight under the table. He glances at Harry, and for a second his eyes are nervous.

Harry blinks, because he didn't know Louis could even be nervous, so he squeezes Louis' hand. Louis sends him a small smile, something indescribable flashing in his eyes.

Niall is trying to sneak Harry subtle glances, but this is Niall. He's about as subtle as a brick.

"Yeah, Tommo, get some," Zayn sniggers, and smirks when Louis flips him off.

"I want your friend," Louis whines, nudging Harry in the ribs, "He's nicer than mine."

"Sorry, he's not for sale," Harry replies, nudging Louis back.

Louis pouts, and Harry laughs, leaning in to brush his lips over Louis' cheek. It's an impulse, an instinctive action, and Harry freezes. He blushes, pulling back.

Louis shakes his head, and Harry's heart plummets, until Louis reaches forward, tugging on one of Harry's curls.

"Yeah, cut that out, RIGHT NOW," Zayn says loudly, and they both jump.

"Fuck off, Zayn," Louis snap, and Zayn sends him a wicked grin. Louis is still in Harry's space, shoulders almost touching.

"You're going to be that disgusting couple that finishes each other's sentences, and touch in public all the time, and feed each other food, aren't you?" Zayn sighs, but his amber eyes are affectionate.

"You could feed me!" Niall suggests, perking up at the idea.

 "Zayn would end up starving," Harry teases, but he nudges Niall's foot to show he's teasing.

"Morning everyone," someone says, and Harry looks up to see Liam.

Liam's glancing between he and Louis' clasped hands, and beaming, big brown eyes filles with contentment.

"Zayn rimmed Niall," Louis announces, and Liam drops his bag.

"Louis," he whines, as he gathers all his pencils and books, "Louis, can you not say things like that!"

"Caring is sharing," Louis and Harry say, at the exact same time, then crack up when they glance at each other.

Liam sighs, but he can't seem to stay angry for long. He slips in next to Zayn, glancing at him and Niall, smiling so his eyes have little crinkles around them.

He starts talking to Zayn about his art, gesturing with his hands. Niall rests his head on Zayn's shoulder, and Zayn rests his cheek on top of Niall's head, the action subconscious. Liam smiles at them, and Harry suspects Liam is a secret romantic.

"Stop smiling like that," Louis murmurs, and Harry's realises he is, that he's been watching this pan out, and can't contain the happiness he feels.

Louis' acting like he's frowning, but he's not really, and Harry kicks his foot under the table. Louis glares at him, then hooks his ankle around Harry's.

Zayn glares at them.

"You're playing footsie under the table, aren't you."

 

 

"Mr Tomlinson! Would you like to tell us about the effects of the Ruhr Occupation, or carry on gossiping with Mr Styles?"

Louis raises one eyebrow, swinging his chair legs forward so they clatter to the floor.

"Is that a trick question?"

The class burst into laughter. His history teacher rolls her eyes, but just shakes her head when Louis smiles charmingly at her.

Harry covers his face with his hands, and Louis can see the faint pink spreading across his cheeks.

"Louis," he hisses, "You're going to get me in trouble!"

Nobody should be that adorable, Louis contemplates, in fact he's pretty sure it's illegal. Maybe Louis can arrest him.

Hmm. Handcuffs.

"You're thinking something inappropriate," Harry says flatly, and Louis smirks, unconsciously leaning into him.

"No, my thoughts are as pure as the driven snow," Louis insists, and Harry snorts.

"That's a  _lie,"_ Harry smirks, "Louis Tomlinson told a  _lie."_

"What, you can read my mind?" Louis demands, lips curving up, because this is so  _easy_ with Harry.

"Only on Wednesdays."

Louis laughs, and Harry joins in, their faces close together, close enough Louis can see the amusement dancing in Harry's green eyes.

"Good thing it's not a Wednesday," Louis purrs, shifting closer, "Because my thoughts are very -" 

"La, la, la, not listening to Louis' kinky sexual preferences," Harry sing songs, "Reading about Germany's economy, la, la, la."

"Well,  _that_  killed the mood," Louis snarks, and Harry sticks his tongue out at him.

Louis' seriously looking forward to the next group project.


	12. You Are My Turning Page

 

"Chances of you wearing my football shirt to the match."

"Lou, it wouldn't fit."

"Chances of you wearing nothing  _but_ my football shirt to the match."

Harry shoves him lightly. Louis kicks his ankle, but then cuddles up to him again.

They're in Louis' room, curved together on the bed. Harry had walked home with Louis after practice, marvelling at their entwined hands, and the glow on Louis' face as he chatted about the oncoming footie match.

Louis has his head on Harry's chest, and Harry's arm is wrapped around Louis, safe and secure and warm. Harry likes Louis like this, all tired muscles and lazy thoughts after a hard practice.

"Niall's playing, right?"

Louis nods, hair tickling Harry's neck. "Yeah, I think he's a bit sad he can't cheerlead, to be honest. Then again, he'll probably just do a victory chant on the pitch anyway."

"It's cool," Harry smiles, an idea suddenly striking him, "We can both cheer for our boyfriends."

Louis cranes his head up, rolling his eyes. "You're such a sap," he teases, but he settles back down.

"Do you want to watch a film?" Harry asks, amused by Louis' sleepy pliability.

"Yeah," Louis mumbles through a yawn, "Stick on  _Thor._ Zayn has a thing for Chris Hemsworth."

Thor is loud, bouncy and blond. Harry can guess why Zayn likes him.

The rain begins to patter down, a rhythmic thudding outside the window. Louis shifts, pressing closer to Harry. His breathing evens, and Harry smiles when he realises Louis' fallen asleep.

He shuffles a little, and Louis grabs his shirt, snuggling closer. Harry bites his bottom lip nervously, not sure what Louis' mum will say if she finds them.

He knows Louis' been really busy lately, their first match is on Saturday, not to mention school work and all the committees he's on.

(And giving Harry hand jobs, but that's only happened once, unfortunately, so Harry can't take too much credit.)

As if on cue, Jay pushes open the door. "Lou, I'm making dinner, does Harry-"

She pauses, eyes widening at Harry and Louis, Louis curled into Harry's chest, Harry's arms wrapped around Louis' lithe body.

"I -" Harry begins, but then Jay begins to smile, delighted grin spreading across her face.

"I'm assuming you made the first move?" she whispers, eyes soft, "I love that boy, but the pining was a bit much."

Harry bites back a gasp, a glow spreading through him at Jay's acceptance. Louis chooses that moment to wriggle a little, and Harry instinctively curls a hand around his hip.

He glances up sheepishly, but Jay just smiles, nodding at him, before quietly closing the door.

Harry listens to the patter of the rain, and Louis' soft breathing, and Thor beating up ice giants and wouldn't be anywhere else.

 

 

"Zayn, if you don't stop pacing, I'm going to bitch slap you."

Zayn - who was pacing, only this is Zayn, so it was more atmospheric striding - glares at him.

"Excuse me, Tomlinson, but you're practically burning holes in the floor."

That's true, but Louis doesn't care, because this is the day of his first fucking football match as Captain, and everyone is watching, and he _can't screw up._

This isn't some stupid little Year 10 five a side, this is a proper match, and Louis has something to prove, has to make this work.

He thinks of what he told Harry, all those weeks ago in the corridor. He _loves_ football, practically breathes it, it's the one place where he can just  _think._

He likes music, and drama, and all his committee work, and bitching people out, but it's football that he's proud of, that he's Captain of, for God's sake.

There's something else too, something itching under his skin, an extra weight that he can't shake. He doesn't know what it is, just that it's making his head hurt.

"Louis," Zayn snaps, "You could stand there all night and contemplate how high the grass grows, or you could perhaps change into your football kit."

"Grass is very interesting," Louis snarks back, just because he can, and Zayn rolls his eyes.

Thankfully, Niall appears and drags Zayn off to the changing rooms. They better just be changing, the rest of the team are in there and Louis doubts they're exactly voyeuristic.

Louis sighs, bunching his fists in his trackies. He tries to calm his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut, and counting to ten in his head. It's a childish tactic and a half attempted effort, so he doesn't expect to work and it doesn't.

He runs a hand through his hair, then fixes a smile on his face, because Louis' motto has always been: if you can't do it, bullshit it until everyone else thinks you can.

He pushes the door of the changing rooms, and plants his hands on his hips.

"Right," he begins, tone authoritative and firm, "Listen up, lads..."

His little pep talk goes well, the boys all looking considerably cheered. He chats with Josh, and Mark, and Adam, leaving them wearing their best warrior faces.

He swings by Zayn and Niall, Niall full of the nervous excitement that comes with your first match. Zayn is straight backed, and clasps Louis' hand as he goes past, amber eyes determined.

(He and Niall also sneak off for a moment, hand in hand with Niall giggling. Louis refrains from making a crude comment, because he's such a good friend.)

It occurs to Louis, as he's pulling on his footie kit, absent mindedly tracing the black letters, the only one who isn't reassured, is him.

He doesn't bother making eye contact with the others - the match is in half an hour, and they're all way to busy gearing each other up to pay him much attention.

He makes his way to an unoccupied corner, and sinks down, head resting on his knees. His head snaps up at the sound of wolf whistle.

There's a loud cat call, and Louis frowns, until someone shouts: "Hey, Tommo, your boy's here!", and Louis turns his head to see  _Harry._

Harry's cheeks are red with cold, and his fingers are shoved into his coat pockets. His curls are awry, and he smiles shyly when he catches Louis' gaze.

"Hey," he murmurs, as he gets close, head slightly ducked, and Louis' heart swells with affection.

"Just wanted to wish you luck," he says, flashing his white teeth, "Couldn't quite fit into your t-shirt, though."

Louis chuckles, nerves settling slightly for the first time. "You're obviously not trying hard enough," he quips, and Harry's eyes light.

"Come on," Louis says spontaneously, grabbing Harry's hand, "I've got half an hour, let's go for a walk."

Harry shoots him a curious look, and Louis feels his shoulders slump.

"I'm nervous," he explains quietly, and understanding dawns on Harry's face.

Harry's eyes flash determinedly, and he squeezes Louis' hand. He tugs him out of the changing rooms, just smiling at the cheers from the team.

Harry drags him out to the back of the astro turf, a small sheltered area that not many people know about. Louis flings himself to the ground, tucking his knees into his chest.

Harry sits down next to him, folding his awkwardly long legs underneath him, hand still in Louis'. He doesn't say anything, which Louis is thankful for. Louis' never been the type to want reassurances and false words.

"I don't want to mess up," he says finally, eyes on his black football boots.

"I -" he takes a deep breath, throat suddenly hoarse, "I don't want everyone to think I'm a fail. That all I'm good for is a laugh. This isn't primary school, you know?"

He picks at a loose thread on his football shorts, snapping it in half. "I just want to be a good Captain, especially -"

And that's when it hits him, the reason he's extra nervous, even more than he should be. Even more than he was going to be.

He wants to win for Harry. It's not about them being gay, there's a couple of funny looks, but people like Louis, and all the girls think Harry's hot now, and just doesn't seem to matter.

It's because Harry still gets that nervous look in his eyes, like he's not sure if someone's going to shove him over. 

There's this part of Louis that just wants to protect him. It's stupid because he knows Harry can protect himself, knows Harry wants to protect _Louis,_ but it doesn't matter.

He just wants to be the best, the best he can be, so that he's good enough for Harry, so everyone knows that it doesn't matter if Harry's a geek, or a nerd, or a freak,  _Louis wants him._

"Guess I just want to protect you," he whispers, and feels some of the tension drain out his body.

Harry's warm hand curves around Louis' jaw, and he kisses him. He kisses him deeply, as if he's trying to pour all his emotion into Louis.

His tounge slips into Louis' mouth, hands curling into Louis' hair. It's deep, and warm, and tender, and Louis feels hot all over. Harry bites down on Louis' bottom lip, and slides his hands up Louis' shirt.

Louis gasps as Harry smooths a thumb over Louis' nipples, broad palms hot against his chest. He squirms as Harry's nails gently scrape over his abs, tilting his head to kiss him harder.

"I don't care whether you win or not," Harry breathes when they pull back, their faces barely an inch apart, "You're still amazing to me. I don't need a football match to know you're there for me, because I see it everyday."

"How did I get so lucky with you?" Louis murmurs, and he means it, the words coming from deep within him, enscribed in his bones.

"I don't know," Harry smiles, eyes gentle, "But you know what else I know?"

He pushes himself up, brushing off his jeans. "I know you're amazing, which is why I know you're going to win this match."

He bends down, crouching in front of Louis. Louis raises an eyebrow. "Hazza, what are you doing?"

"Giving you a piggy back," Harry states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Louis' about to protest, but he's rapidly beginning to realise he has no choice when it comes to Harry Styles.

He jumps onto Harry's back, wrapping his legs around Harry's lean torso. He hugs his arms around Harry's neck, and smacks a kiss on the side of Harry's cheek.

"Thanks," he mumbles, and it's quiet but he knows Harry hears it.

 

 

"So, which end are we?" Harry asks Liam, pulling his coat tighter around him.

Liam smiles at him, and reaches over to straighten his collar. "This one, look you can see Niall."

It's hard to miss Niall, because he's jumping up and down, waving enthusiastically. Harry and Liam both wave back, and Harry gives Niall a big thumbs up.

"Is football dangerous?" Harry questions nervously, chewing on his bottom lip.

Liam pats his arm reassuringly. "Not as bad as rugby, and besides, Louis' pretty jabby with his elbows."

Harry laughs, because that's definitely true. He glances at Liam. "Don't you like football? Why aren't you on the team?"

Liam shrugs. "I just don't like it that much. Louis tried to teach me once, but he got frustrated and threw his football boots at my head."

He smiles wryly as Harry cracks up. "To be fair, we were only seven."

"I think seventeen year old Louis would still throw football boots at your head," Harry smirks, and Liam laughs in agreement.

The game starts, and although Harry's not really sure what's going on - he's not a huge sports fan - he cheers like mad whenever Louis or Zayn touch the ball.

There's not much action in the first half, the other team are playing dirty. Harry's not sure if he's just bius, but when even Liam sucks in a breathe, he knows it not him.

There's a moment when the opposition nearly scores. The ball looks as if it'll slam straight into the net, but Niall deflects it - just. It means he has to leap in the air to grab it, and comes crashing down on the pitch.

He gets up, but he looks shaky, and they don't score in that half. When the half time whistle goes off, Niall looks like he's going to cry, and Louis is furious.

Liam and Harry head straight to the changing rooms, Liam tugging Harry's hand. They both need the reassurance.

Louis has just finished giving some kind of pep talk when they walk in. Niall's slumped in a corner, and his eyes are pink. His bottom lip is trembling.

Harry immediately makes to go to him, and he can see Zayn make the same movement, but suddenly Louis is in the way.

"Niall," he snarls, and Niall's head snaps up.

"Do you think your the only person who's ever almost left a goal in?" Louis demands, hands planted on his hips.

Niall mouths drops. "No, I -"

"And do you think," Louis growls, "That I'd let you on my team, if I thought you were an utter failure?"

Niall's eyes widen. "Well, no -"

"Then," Louis finishes, "Please prove me right, and go out there and kick their arses, okay?"

Harry gapes at him.

Zayn gapes at him.

Niall gapes at him - then bursts out laughing. He straightens up, determination flashing in his blue eyes.

"You've got a good one there, Hazza," Niall smiles, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Harry looks at Louis and smiles.

"Yeah," he says softly, "Yeah, I really do."

 

 

They're going to win. Louis knows it the moment they step back onto the pitch. The whole atmosphere is heightened, and when the whistle goes, Louis grits his teeth and  _runs._

The other team obviously weren't prepared for his sudden energy boost, and by the time they've caught up, Louis' got the ball.

Suddenly, he's pelting down the pitch. It's as if everything fades away, it's just him and his breathing, flecks of mud flying up as his feet pound the pitch, and Louis pulls back his foot and  _scores._

He gets a second of peace, then Zayn is slamming into him, hugging him hard.

"Nice shot!" he shouts, over the roar of the crowd. 

"I know!" Louis grins back, and Zayn shoves him, the rest of the team chanting and slapping his back.

Louis scores a second time, thanks to a brilliant cross from Zayn, and then it's over and they've  _won._

He's beaming, elation rising through him. Niall barrels into him at one point, almost picking Louis off the floor. That's a little embarrassing, but hey, compact right?

His mum comes over with the twins, their cheeks painted with black and white stripes. She hugs him, and says she's very proud, and if he goes out after, could he text her please?

Louis dutifully promises, and then turns, ready to trot over to his team. There's an official pary at Josh's tomorrow, but he, Liam, Niall, Zayn and Harry are all going to the cafe around the corner.

(This wasn't a complicated decision. Zayn is stupidly done for Niall, Niall is stupidly obsessed with said cafe's hot chocolate, and Louis' muscles are too knackered to refuse.)

He pauses, stretching one calf muscle, and looks up to see Harry.

It's like those stupid romantic comedy moments, but Louis doesn't care, because Harry looks gorgeous, and he's the only reason they won anyway.

He flys across the pitch, limbs moving on their own accord, and barrels into Harry.

Harry's strong arms wrap around him, and Louis instinctively reaches up to rest his head on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around Harry, breathing in the scent of cinnamon, and shower gel and  _Harry._

"You were so good," Harry murmurs, deep voice soothing, "I was so proud."

Louis kisses him, soft lips pressed against Harry's, hands tangled in Harry's curly hair.

"Thanks," he says, "It's all down to you anyway."

Harry shakes his head. "You're so good, I could never play like that. I've got all the coordination of a giraffe."

"Good thing it's not your coordination I'm interested in then," Louis smirks.

Harry laughs, and wraps an arm around him. They walk over to the others, Louis snug under Harry's arm. It makes him feel safe, Harry's hand gentle on his lower back.

Zayn grins at him as they head over, in a similar state with Niall. Niall perks up when they head over, tugging Zayn's hand.

"Hey HarryandLouis, can we go grab the hot chocolate now, please, please?" he begs, trying - unsuccessfully - to pull Zayn along.

Liam smiles, amused. "Niall, Louis can't go in his footie kit, can he?"

Niall blinks. " _Yes."_

They all laugh, and Niall looks sheepish, shrugging.

"We could just go ahead?" Liam suggests, shooting Harry and Louis a wink.

 "Yes!" Niall beams, "I'll order for you, Hazza, come on!"

He surges forward, smacking a kiss on Harry's cheek, and then dragging Zayn off.

Liam lingers for a second, and smiles at them. "Nice game, Lou. I'll see you in a bit, okay?"

"Thanks, mate," Louis replies, and then he and Harry go into the changing rooms

Briefly, Louis considers a repeat performance of the last time they were here - with a little of reciprocation - but he's actually pretty tired. He's not sure his legs giving out in the middle of a blow job sends a good message.

Harry seems content, though, wandering around the changing rooms, peeking into the showers.

His lips quirk when he sees Louis, dressed in his comfiest clothes, hoodie and joggers.

He walks over, tugging Louis' beanie on his head, bending down to kiss him chastely.

Louis snickers when he frowns in concentration, tying together the strings of Louis' hoodie in a bow.

"You're an idiot," he says, but his tone's too fond to be a reprimand.

Harry's phone goes off, and he pulls it off of his pocket. He laughs when he reads the screen, passing it over to Louis.

_From: Leeeyum_

_Zayn and Niall are being adorable, and Niall is planning to order Harry food so he can just eat that as well._

There's a photo attached, and Louis opens it.

  

Louis snorts, and saves it as:  _Soppy Bastards Who Can't Keep Their Hands To Themselves_

(He refuses to believe that's hypocritical.)

 

 

Zayn has managed to restrain Niall from ordering the entire restaurant, but his preferred method seems to be sticking his tongue down Niall's throat.

Liam is way too polite to interrupt them, and is determinedly looking out the window.

Louis is not polite, and he kicks Zayn's shin as he sits down. In his defence, they did look one peck away from a lap dance.

"Ow!" Zayn howls, glaring at Louis, "Louis, if you do that again I'm showing Harry your beanie collection."

"Doesn't matter!" Louis beams gleefully, "Harry loves me in beanies anyway!"

The sudden silence is deafening.

Louis freezes, mentally going over what he just said. All said was Harry -

\- oh, shit.

"Niall, what hot chocolate did you say you liked?" Liam asks suddenly, shoving a menu at him.

Louis really loves Liam.

Speaking of.

Louis swallows, turning to Harry, eyes wide. He shuffles awkwardly. "I didn't -" he begins, "I didn't mean to presume anything, or assume -"

"It's okay," Harry blurts, eyes on the table top, "I think -

He swallows. "I think, maybe it was true."

Louis blinks at him, lets that confession sink in, feeling as though his heart is beating out his chest.

Harry's shifting nervously, but he's not breaking eye contact, green eyes wide and sincere. Louis' gaze traces his face, eyes roving over his curly hair, his pink lips.

He thinks back to earlier, to when Harry was holding him, reassuring him. He thinks back to how angry he felt when Nick was bullying him, how he laughed in history the other day.

He thinks way, way back, that first history lesson, when he wondered if anyone knew about Harry.

He kinda wants to be that person.

"I love you," Louis breathes, and it's calm, and quiet, and they're in a tiny cafe, but it's  _true._

Harry's eyes light and his expression is one of pure adoration. He's so gorgeous in that moment that a part of Louis  _aches._

"I love you too," Harry murmurs, and kisses him.

 "OW!"

Zayn blinks innocently, like he didn't just kick him hard enough to bruise.

Louis glares at him, fingers curled in Harry's hair, Harry's lips an inch from his. Harry's trying not to laugh, he's trembling with effort, and Louis feels something melt when they lock gazes.

"Thanks for ruining a tender moment," Louis snaps, already leaning towards Harry again.

"Well," Liam says wisely, just as their lips are about to touch, "Sharing is caring."


	13. All Your Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who commented, left kudos or bookmarked this :)
> 
> Thank you!!

Harry doesn't trip on the way to his locker.

He's still got all the coordination of a giraffe, but it's more his new skinny jeans that are going to have him tumbling. He went shopping with Niall on Saturday, and Niall had to practically peel them off him.

Niall had brought a snap back, and then spent the entire time taking selfies and sending them to Zayn.

(He even took them in the changing rooms, when he was trying on some jogging bottoms for football, which is why Harry will never be looking through Zayn's phone.)

Harry's just turning the corridor, when something slams into him. A heavy weight shoves him into a locker, and his back smacks against it, his head spinning.

Warm hands press against his hips, and the body pressed against his is achingly familiar, the scent of vanilla.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," are the first words out of Harry's mouth.

 _Louis Tomlinson_ grins. "Well, I'd insult your childhood, but I've seen your baby photos."

Harry grins, leaning back against the lockers, so Louis presses closer. "What are you going to do, threaten me?"

"Well," Louis murmurs, hands creeping under Harry's shirt, "I'd break your fingers but -"

He shoots Harry a salacious look that does strange things to Harry's lower half.

" - I'm pretty partial to them."

Louis reaches out and curls his hands around Harry's wrists, holding them above his head.

"I guess," Harry says, a little breathless, pushing his hips against Louis', "You'll have to find another way to shut me up."

"Good thing for you," Louis says, and he's trying not to smile now, Harry can tell.

"I'm full of good ideas," Louis finishes, and kisses him.

 

Harry  _loves_ sixth form.


End file.
